The Wistful Incense
You dream of the weight of the iron, not as a burden upon your shoulder but as a second skeleton, fusing with your own until you can no longer distinguish where the flesh ends and the metal begins, a cold and absolute certainty that permeates the marrow of your bones and calcifies the very breath in your lungs, turning the air you inhale into something sharp and metallic that tastes of rust and...
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