The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-18 08:22:56 -

The orchard stood in silence. It was an old place. The trees were gnarled. They twisted like arthritic fingers. They reached for a sky that never seemed to break. Margaret sat on the cold stone step. Her back was straight. Her hands were still. She looked at the branches. They did not move. The air was thick. It smelled of rot and wet earth. It smelled of old blood. This was the house of her...

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