The Distant Temple
The tower stood alone in the mist. It was old. Stone. Cold. Thomas sat on the damp grass. He looked up. The spire pierced the grey sky. It looked like a needle. It looked like a finger pointing at God. He was not supposed to be here. He was a clerk. He kept records. He filed papers. He did not climb. He did not dream. But the dream came again. Every night. The tower. The door. The voice. "Come...
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