The Wistful Incense
Chapter One "You cannot have it, Michiko Yamamoto. The quota is the quota." The Loom Spirit did not speak with a voice but with the grinding of gears, a translucent figure woven from steam and shadow that stood between the boilers in the basement of the textile mill. Michiko, twelve years old and smelling of soot, held her ground. Her husband, Kenji Yamamoto, was dying upstairs, his lungs...
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