The Distant Temple
The ink is dry. It is always dry. You check your cuffs. The fabric is coarse. It bites into the skin. This is correct. You stand in the hall. The floor is stone. It is cold. It seeps through the soles of your boots. You feel the chill in your teeth. You do not shiver. You are a man of the Order. You do not shiver. The air smells of dust and old paper. There is a faint scent of rot. It is sweet....
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