A Letter for MarthaEstimated Day 8 of the Ash EventThe paper is thin and brittle, heavily creased as if it was folded and unfolded dozens of times in the dark.“...If you get this, do not leave the cellar. The streets aren’t safe anymore, and I don’t mean the things howling in the dark. It’s our neighbours. A crew from the old docks came through the block this morning. They’re desperate. I know they are. But desperation has made them cruel. They didn’t want gold. They wanted wood. They took my wood-axe, my winter coats, and the iron nails from the shed. When I begged them to leave us some wood for the stove, a woman with her face wrapped in a bloody grey rag just pointed a shiv at my throat. ‘Wood is life now, old man,’ she said. Her voice was completely dead. No anger, just cold calculation.They’ve taken over what remains of the Market District. Every cart, every crate, every door they can pry loose has become another wall. If you see people wearing thick furs and masks made from torn cloth, run. They won’t ask your name. They’ll strip the coat from your back, take your firewood, and leave you standing in the ash. I don’t think they’re evil anymore. I think they’re just what’s left of us.”