The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-20 16:45:37 -

The fog rolled in thick. It smelled of wet stone. And old iron. Elias stood by the gate. He held his wife’s hand. Her grip was tight. Her nails dug into his palm. It hurt. He liked the pain. It was real. "Go," she said. Her voice was thin. A wire. "I stay," he lied. They both knew. Lying was easy. Truth was heavy. The town of Oakhaven slept. Or so it seemed. The windows were dark. But the...

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