The Distant Temple
The hall smells of wet wool and the sharp, metallic tang of cheap wine, a scent that has settled into the plaster walls of the St. Jude’s Community Center like a permanent ghost, and you stand at the edge of the long table, your fingers trembling slightly as you smooth the linen tablecloth for the fourth time, watching the steam rise from the chafing dishes in a way that mimics the faint,...
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