The Distant Temple
The rain had fallen for three days, a gray and relentless curtain that blurred the edges of the world until the stone walls of the Abbey of St. Jude’s seemed to breathe, expanding and contracting with the damp. It was not a storm, but a siege, a slow drowning of the senses. Within the scriptorium, the air hung heavy with the scent of oak gall, iron, and the musty decay of vellum. Here, in the...
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