The Wistful Incense
The dream begins with the smell of ozone and wet slate, a scent so sharp it feels like a physical blow to the back of your skull, and you are standing in the vast, circular atrium of the Imperial Gasification Institute, where the air is thick with the humming vibration of high-voltage wires that stretch across the ceiling like the nervous system of a sleeping god. You are small here, a child of...
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