The Wistful Incense
The scale read 14.2 grams, a number that felt heavy in the damp air of the basement. I weighed the dried petals of the ghost orchid against the lead vial, my hands trembling not from cold, but from the sheer, exhausting weight of the last three years of my life. My father had spent forty years chasing this scent, a compound he called The Wistful Incense, claiming it could bridge the gap between...
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