The Distant Temple
The ink bled into the vellum like a bruise forming beneath the skin, a slow and darkening tide that swallowed the careful script of the tax assessor. Elias Thorne sat in the high-backed chair of the magistrate’s office, the wood groaning under the weight of his rigid posture. He was a man of precise measurements and quiet habits, a clerk whose life was defined by the straight lines of ledgers...
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