The Wistful Incense
Burn it, Elias. Burn it before the sun touches the vault floor. The order came from Director Vane, his voice a dry rattle through the heavy oak door of the Ministry’s sub-basement. I had spent twenty years cataloging the Ministry’s forgotten horrors, my hands stained with ink and the dust of centuries, but never had I faced a mandate so absurd, so lethal. The object in question sat on a...
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