The Distant Temple
The coffee in your cup has gone cold, a dark, still lake reflecting the peeling wallpaper of the kitchen. It is a small room, cramped and damp, the kind of space where time seems to pool in the corners. You are sitting at the table, the wood worn smooth by decades of elbows and elbows of men before you, men who also worked the mines, men who also came home with dust in their hair and silence in...
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