The Wistful Incense
The great furnace of the Whitmore & Sons Ironworks did not merely burn; it exhaled, a long, shuddering sigh of coal smoke and molten slag that wrapped the town of Oakhaven in a perpetual, amber twilight, a light that settled into the pores of the skin and the creases of the soul, leaving no corner of the world untouched by its heavy, industrial breath. It was in this suffocating embrace of soot...
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