The Wistful Incense
The parchment weighed four ounces, a precise and heavy thing in a world that had forgotten the weight of anything but hunger. Elias counted the hours by the dripping of the condensation from the cellar’s damp stones, each drop a metronome for the slow death of the garrison. Outside, the siege engines groaned in the dark, a low, tectonic rumble that vibrated through the soles of his boots, but...
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