The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-21 16:42:56 -

The fog rolls in off the river. It smells of coal and wet stone. You are standing on the platform. The train is late. Or perhaps you are late. It does not matter. The clock on the wall ticks. Tick. Tick. Tick. It is a sound that eats time. You are in the city. The great, grinding city. The gears of industry turn above you. Sirens wail in the distance. A low, moaning song. You are here to find...

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