The Distant Temple
The boiler in the basement of the Ashworth Manor had been coughing a rust-colored sputum for three weeks, a mechanical arrhythmia that vibrated through the floorboards and into the soles of my bare feet, a persistent, low-frequency thrum that suggested the entire industrial skeleton of the house was slowly succumbing to a fever of its own making, while I stood in the cold, damp darkness of the...
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