The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-23 03:50:18 -

The brass tongs were cold in Elias Thorne’s hand, slick with the residue of dried sage and charcoal dust. He wrapped them in a strip of oiled canvas, the fabric stiffening around the metal as if in protest. The shop smelled of wet wool and old paper, the scent of a life being folded up for storage. Elias was forty years old, and he had been making incense for twenty. His hands, stained...

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