The Wistful Incense

a adăugat un sunet Literature

2026-08-19 21:02:26 -

The smoke was thick. It tasted of iron and old ash. I held the branch aloft, my fingers white against the dark wood. The flames licked the tip. They did not burn. They danced. They waited. My name is Elias. I am twelve years old. My lungs are full of the sickness. The doctor called it consumption. The town called it the Gray. I felt it in my chest. A cold weight. A stone swallowed whole. I...

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