Ashes

The air smells so good! It always does this time of the year.

It never matters which day it is, or which month. On this particular Wednesday, every year, the air always smells different, smells good.

Smells purified.

I glance back at the vase sitting elegantly on the altar, the light from the stained glass windows of the building reflecting off its silver body.

A smile slowly spreads on my face. I take a deep breath, adjust the collar on my neck, and walk towards the heavy oak doors.

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