The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-22 22:38:20 -

The room smelled of damp wool and old paper. Elias Thorne sat in the dark, his fingers wrapped around the cracked porcelain incense burner. It was cold, heavier than it looked, a weight that grounded him in the shifting dark. He lit the stick. The smoke did not rise. It curled, thick and viscous, turning a deep, bruised black before it hit the air. Elias stared at it. Black meant unsafe. Black...

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