The Wistful Incense
The iron key hangs heavy in your palm, its teeth worn smooth by years of turning locks that were never meant to be opened by a man of your station. You are Elias, thirty-two, a constable of the Ashworth Manor, and the weight of the key is the only thing that feels real after the dream. In the dream, you are standing in a room made of smoke, and the walls are covered in script that burns with a...
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