The Distant Temple
The feast in the great hall of the Whitmore estate was a monument to excess, a sprawling tableau of roasted pheasant, silver tureens, and the suffocating weight of expectation. You sat at the head of the table, your eyes fixed not on the food, but on the object resting on the sideboard, a small, obsidian sphere that seemed to drink the candlelight. It was the only thing in the room that did not...
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