The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-24 13:07:58 -

The salt mines of Whitmore’s Hollow did not smell of salt, but of old blood and wet iron, a scent that settled into the pores of the skin and refused to wash out. I was thirty-two years old, a clerk of the third rank, and I had spent twelve years grinding my life into powder to pay for a freedom that the Guild Master, a man named Silas Thorne, viewed as a joke. I wore a silver clasp at my...

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