The Wistful Incense

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 11:20:52 -

The smoke did not rise. It hung, a thick, grey woolen blanket woven from the lungs of the dying. Arthur stood in the center of the room. He was a large man, built like the iron bridges he had guarded for thirty years. His uniform was crisp, starched white against the dim, industrial gloom of the house. The buttons shone like cold eyes. He held the censer. It was heavy, a brass beast with a...

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