The Distant Temple
The bell tolls. It is a dull, wet sound. Like a stone dropped into a deep well. You are in the workshop. The air smells of oak shavings and old varnish. You are a joiner. You make chairs. You make tables. You make the boxes that hold the secrets of the wealthy. Your hands are steady. They are strong. They have never once faltered. Not since the day you left the city. Outside, the rain falls. It...
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