The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-21 14:18:06 -

The bell rang. It was not the church bell. It was the iron gate. "Open it," said Thomas. I did not move. My hands were busy. I was grinding the root. The mortar was stone. The pestle was wood. The sound was dull. Thud. Thud. Thud. "Open it, I say." Thomas stood by the hearth. He was old. His face was a map of wrinkles. His eyes were bright. They were always bright. I looked at the gate. I...

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