The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-23 22:21:49 -

The fire in the workshop did not smell of cedar or amber; it smelled of the specific, metallic tang of a mistake you had made twenty years ago and never confessed. You, Elias Thorne, stood before the alabaster basin, your hands trembling not from age but from the acute, rattling distress in your lungs, watching the smoke curl into a shape that was unmistakably Silas. He was standing in the...

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