The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-17 23:03:39 -

The fog sat heavy on the valley. It smelled of coal and wet wool. I sat on the floor of the attic. My brother, Eli, lay in the room below. He was dying. Or so the men in black said. I held the jar. It was cold. The glass bit into my palm. Inside, the smoke curled like a sleeping snake. It was not gray. It was blue. It was the blue of a bruise. The blue of a sky before a storm breaks. Old Man...

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