The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-22 00:03:04 -

The cloak was not woven from wool or linen, but from the shed skins of the spectral serpents that coiled in the high, thin air of the monastery of Aethelgard, a fabric that had fused to Brother Silas’s skin so completely that it had become a second dermis, a parasitic layer that slowly drained his vitality with every breath he took. He stood before the loom in the scriptorium, his hands...

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