The Faded Sutra
You’re going to demolish the roof, Elias. The voice in the dream was not Mara’s, though it carried the specific, brittle cadence of her last recorded telephone call, the one he had played forty-three times in the dark of his study. In the dream, Mara stood in the center of the library’s main reading room, her body composed entirely of white porcelain pages, each one inscribed with a sutra that...
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