The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-24 19:36:24 -

The silver censer was heavier than it looked, cold and rough against the palm, smelling of old wax and the sharp, metallic tang of fear. You held it with both hands, knuckles white, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps that sounded too loud in the silence of the dormitory. It was the third of November, the night the frost began to bite into the stone walls of the High Monastery, and you,...

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