The Wistful Incense
Can a man eat his own shadow? Jelena Adamyan stood at the center of the banquet table, her spine a rigid rod of steel against the plush velvet of the chair. She was thirty-two, a disciplined officer in the Imperial Guard, and her concrete want was simple: a promotion to Captain by the end of the week. What stood against him was immediate and visceral. The roasted lamb, glistening with a glaze...
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