The Distant Temple
The ink had dried on the final page of the manuscript three days before I felt the first tremor in my hands, a subtle, electrical stutter that traveled from the knuckles up to the elbow and settled, like a guest who refuses to leave, in the marrow of my bones. I am a scholar of palimpsests, a man who has spent the better part of his life peeling away the layers of history to find the text...
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