The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-20 15:03:38 -

The house held its breath. It was a large, stone thing, built of grey rock that seemed to seep into the walls of the mind. Eleanor sat in the parlor. The chair was high-backed. It was old. Her mother’s chair. The wood was worn smooth by decades of sitting, by the friction of bodies that no longer existed. Eleanor’s fingers traced the armrest. The grain was soft. It felt like skin. Outside, the...

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