The Distant Threshold
The glass mortar sits heavy in your hands, a cold weight that anchors you to the present moment as the edges of your past begin to fray. You are Elias, forty-two, a master perfumer in the service of the Duke of Vane, and your fingers tremble not from age but from the terrifying lightness in your skull. The Duke demands Ambrosia, a scent distilled from the memories of the dying, a substance that...
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