The Distant Temple
The ink was already under his fingernails by the time the Abbot arrived. Elias Thorne did not look up from the ledger, his head bowed in a posture that was less reverence and more exhaustion. The text on the page was not static; it writhed, black letters sliding across the parchment like oil on water, bleeding through the paper to seep into the skin of his left hand. A sharp sting, like a...
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