The Wistful Incense

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 05:32:43 -

"You have no right to touch it." Old Silas stood by the hearth. His hands were stained black with soot. He looked at me. I was seven. I held the iron tongs. "Put it down, boy," he said. His voice was low. It was not angry. It was tired. "It is burning," I said. "The bellows are full," he replied. "The fire is hungry. It must eat." I looked at the coal. It glowed red. The heat pushed against my...

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