The Wistful Incense

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 12:51:04 -

The dream always began with the smell of wet stone and iron. I stood in the vaulted cellar of the Citadel, the air thick with the scent of damp moss and old blood, my hands trembling as I held the hilt of a sword that weighed less than air but crushed my shoulders under its burden. Above me, through the grate in the ceiling, the light was grey and cold, filtering down into the dark like a slow,...

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