The Distant Temple
The iron gate of the Penitentiary for Moral Deviance does not open with a click or a turn of a key, but with a groan, a deep, tectonic shudder that vibrates up through the soles of your boots and into the marrow of your bones. You stand before it, your uniform pressed tight against your chest, the brass buttons cold against your skin, and you wait for the world to shift. Inside, the air is...
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