The Wistful Incense
The feast in the Blackwood estate hall was a cacophony of silverware and silk, a spectacle of opulence that Elias Thorne viewed from the shadows of the pantry. At thirty, he was a clerk of modest means and greater anxiety, his hands stained not with wine but with the ink of ledgers he was forbidden to keep. He watched his sister, Elara, from the periphery; her cheeks were hollow, her breath a...
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