The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-19 10:34:11 -

The jar sat on the kitchen table, a squat, glass cylinder filled with a thick, black paste that smelled of burnt sugar and old iron. You knew it was medicine. Or perhaps poison. In Millhaven, the line had been blurred for decades, ever since the Council decided that health was a privilege purchased with obedience, not a right. You stirred the mixture with a wooden spoon, the sound dull and...

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