The Distant Temple

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2026-08-20 10:06:44 -

The ink is still wet on your skin. It smells of iron and burnt sugar, a scent that clings to the wool of your sleeves and the back of your throat. You are a clerk. You are small, quiet, and you count things. You count the grain sacks in the cellar. You count the candles in the chandler’s shop. You count the cracks in the limestone floor of the Great Hall at Ashworth Manor. Today, you count the...

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