The Distant Temple
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended gray curtain that blurred the edges of the world until the house of Elias Thorne seemed less a structure of brick and timber and more a ghostly sketch drawn in charcoal on wet paper. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool, stale tobacco, and the metallic tang of fear that had settled into the pores of the walls over...
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