The Wistful Incense
The feast in the Great Hall of the Ashworth estate was not a celebration of life, but a ritualized eulogy for the future, a sprawling tableau of candlelight and roasted pheasant where the air hung thick with the scent of beeswax and impending doom. I sat at the far end of the long oak table, my fingers trembling slightly as they gripped the edge of the silver goblet, watching Lord Ashworth...
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