The Distant Temple
The air in the archive room was so thick with the smell of mildew and old paper that it seemed to have a physical weight, pressing against the skin, and Eleanor Fairchild stood there, her hands trembling slightly as she held the ledger open, her eyes fixed on the name written in faded iron gall ink, a name that did not belong to her, a name that belonged to no one she had ever known, yet which...
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