The Distant Temple
The bell of St. Jude’s did not ring; it shrieked, a metallic tearing of the air that split the silence of the city like a wound opening in the flesh of the morning. I stood in the center of the cobbled square, my hands still stained with the indigo of the dye I had been grinding, a deep, bruised violet that spoke of the ink I used to write the ledgers for the Guild of Weavers. Around me, the...
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