The Wistful Voyage
The smell of the rosemary was so thick it tasted like iron on the back of my tongue, a metallic tang that coated my throat and settled in the hollows of my chest, where it mixed with the ancient, dusty scent of the stone floor and the damp, rotting wood of the beams above, creating a perfume that was less a fragrance than a physical weight, pressing down on my shoulders as I sat there in the...
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