The Wistful Incense
The letter from the Guild Master lay on the desk, the wax seal broken and cold, the ink of his signature already fading into a grey smear that looked less like authority and more like the scab of a healing wound. I read it three times, my thumb tracing the indented letters of *confiscation*, while the sound of the scratching quill in the corner stopped abruptly, leaving a silence so thick it...
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