The Distant Temple

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2026-08-23 13:39:22 -

The brass casing was warm, too warm, as if it had been sitting in a pocket rather than on the workbench, and my fingers, stained with the black residue of old lubricant, trembled against its cold, unyielding curve. It was March, the kind of grey, suffocating March that settles into the bones of the city and refuses to leave, and the workshop smelled of ozone, stale tea, and the metallic tang of...

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