The Distant Temple
The air in the workshop was thick, not with dust, but with the heavy, suffocating scent of wet oak and varnish, a perfume that had long since replaced the smell of my own skin. I stood before the great mirror, the only object in the room that did not bow to my will, and watched the man who looked back at me. He was older than I felt, his face a map of lines that seemed to deepen with every...
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