The Distant Temple
The rain in London in 1904 did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slicker, turning the soot of the imperial textile ministry into a wet, black paste that clung to the windowpanes of your cramped office. You are Elara Vane, thirty-two years old, an archivist of negligible rank whose hands are perpetually stained with the indigo dust of the ledgers you maintain, and your primary...
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