The Distant Temple
October 12, 1924 The rain has not stopped for three days, a relentless drumming against the high windows of the Municipal Archives that sounds less like weather and more like the collective sigh of the city’s forgotten dead. I am thirty-two years old, and my hands shake as I write this, not from the cold, but from the weight of the secret I have carried for six years, a secret that now feels...
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