The Wistful Incense
The ash on your hands smells of sulfur and old paper. It is 1912, and you are Elias Thorne, an Imperial Censor in the Ministry of Internal Order, holding the Seal of Truth against your chest like a stone in a stomach. The Seal is a glyph, a jagged rune of obsidian that burns your skin whenever you suppress a lie. It does not judge; it only marks. For three years, you have kept the Ministry’s...
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