The Wistful Incense
The incense was a lie, a sweet and cloying fabrication that I had spun out of my own desperation, and I held the coil of it in my hand like a serpent that had been tamed by the sheer weight of my own delusion. "It’s the only thing that keeps the smoke from the walls," I told the steward, a man whose name I had never learned and whose face had become a blur of grey wool and weary eyes, as we...
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