The Distant Temple
You are standing in the kitchen of the house your brother left, holding a jar of preserves that seems to glow with an inner, impossible heat. The glass is warm to the touch, though the air in the room is thin and cold, carrying the scent of old dust and the sharp, metallic tang of ozone that has been building for three days. You tell yourself that it is merely a defect in the canning process, a...
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