The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-23 04:55:50 -

The silver circlet was not jewelry. It was a contract, forged in the cold fires of the Iron Court, and I held it in my palm as if it were a dying bird. Margaret’s face was already fading from the edge of my mind, a watercolor left in the rain. I stood before the High Magistrate, Aldous Vane, whose robes were woven from the stolen hours of lesser men. He did not look at me. He looked at the...

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