The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-20 15:35:35 -

The air in the Hall of Whispers did not smell of rot, as one might expect of a prison for the condemned. It smelled of cardamom and burnt sugar, a cloying, ancient sweetness that clung to the back of the throat like a secret. I sat on the stone floor, my wrists bound not by iron but by a silk cord so fine it was nearly invisible, and I watched the Chancellor prepare his tea. He was a small man,...

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