The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-22 15:07:45 -

The incense burned, yet the smoke did not rise. It hung in the scriptorium like a stagnant cloud, a grey, heavy thing that smelled of rot and old parchment. Brother Thomas watched it with the cold, detached eye of a man who had spent ten years studying the geometry of sin. He was thirty years old, and his hands were steady as iron. The heretic, Elara, sat in the corner, bound by chains that had...

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