The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-22 16:41:18 -

The obsidian dagger was cold against my palm, its surface slick with the grease of my own nervous sweat, and I held it up to the light of the single, flickering candle in the antechamber. It was a small thing, barely a foot long, forged from volcanic glass so dark it seemed to drink the air around it, and I had carried it for twenty years, through every inspection, every budget review, and...

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