The Wistful Incense
The silver star weighed four ounces, three grams, and a lifetime of silence on Elias Thorne’s chest. It was the precise weight of a burden that had begun, three months prior, to weep. Not sweat, nor condensation from the humid Millhaven air, but a thick, rust-colored fluid that seeped from the facets of the metal, staining his white shirt in slow, spreading halos that smelled of old pennies and...
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