The Wistful Incense
"You’re burning it wrong." The voice comes from the dark. It is dry. It is precise. You look at the wick. It sputters. The flame is blue at the core. Orange at the tips. You pinch the wick with your tweezers. The heat bites your skin. You do not flinch. You never flinch. "Again," the voice says. You strike the match. The sulfur snaps. You touch the flame to the wax. The air smells of smoke. It...
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