The Wistful Incense
The scale trembles under the weight of the glass vial, a hair’s breadth from tipping into the red zone of error. You check the counterweights. Three ounces. Two ounces. One. The needle holds steady, a thin black line against a white face, but your hands do not. You are Elias, and you have spent the last six weeks counting hours, counting breaths, counting the precise number of lies required to...
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