The Distant Temple
The sky cracked open on a Tuesday. It did not thunder. It did not flash. It simply split, a jagged line of white silence across the blue, and the rain began to fall upward. Margaret stood in the kitchen, holding a wooden spoon. The rain hit the roof tiles and bounced off, drifting into the clouds. Her daughter, Elsie, stood by the window. She was seven. She pressed her face against the glass....
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