The Faded Sutra
The frost had not yet lifted from the windowpane of the lecture hall when you began to shake. It was a fine, granular tremor, starting in the knees and climbing the spine like a cold vine, a physical manifestation of the silence that had fallen over the room. You stood at the podium, a lectern of dark, varnished oak that smelled of old varnish and damp wool, and you looked out at the faces of...
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