The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-20 17:17:10 -

The smell of burning sage hangs in the air, thick and cloying, a perfume for the dead. You are standing in the center of the great hall, the floorboards cold beneath your feet, and you are dreaming of the smell. In the dream, the smoke is not grey but gold, swirling like living things, and you can see the faces of those who have passed. They are waiting for you. They are always waiting. You...

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