The Wistful Incense
You stand at the center of the banquet hall, which is not a hall at all but a vast, fog-choked cathedral built of rusted iron and glass, suspended in a void that hums with the vibration of distant factories. The air is thick with the scent of ozone and burnt sugar. Before you, long tables stretch into the mist, laden with dishes that shift and change as you watch, their surfaces rippling like...
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