The Distant Temple

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2026-08-19 21:07:27 -

The air in the Ministry of Domestic Stability smells of wet wool and expensive, sterile fear, a scent that has seeped into your pores so thoroughly that you can no longer distinguish your own body from the damp, bureaucratic rot of the hallways where you stand, waiting to be judged. You are an immigrant, or rather, you were, before the concept of nationality was stripped from your person like a...

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