The Wistful Incense
The heavy oak doors of the Royal Conservatory of Antiquities did not creak, nor did they groan under the weight of their own history, but rather they sealed the room with a silence so absolute it felt less like an absence of sound and more like a physical pressure, a thick, amber-colored gelatin that trapped the air inside the vaulted ceiling where the dust motes danced in slow, suspended...
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