The Distant Temple

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2026-08-19 04:02:11 -

The shell cracked the window before Margaret even heard the whistle. Glass sprayed. Warm. Wet. It stung her cheek like a slap. She did not flinch. She stood in the center of the parlor, holding a teacup. The cup was porcelain. Blue. It was intact. The door was gone. Splinters lay across the Persian rug. A draft howled through the frame. Cold air rushed in. It smelled of cordite and wet earth....

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