The Distant Temple
The departure from the Hall of Whispers was not a fleeing, but a shedding, much like the winter bark of an oak, brittle and dry, falling away to reveal the pale, vulnerable wood beneath, a process that required no violence, only the slow, indifferent turning of the seasons, which is to say, the turning of the will of Lord Valerius, whose gaze, fixed upon the center of the room where the...
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