The Distant Temple
The document lay on the workbench, the parchment stiff with the dust of the cellar where it had been stored. It was a notice from the Council, stamped with the red wax of the city magistrates, and the ink smelled of iron and vinegar, a sharp, acidic bite that cut through the usual scent of linseed oil and hot brass. You read it twice, your fingers tracing the jagged edges of the paper, feeling...
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