The Distant Temple
14th October. The rain has been falling on the slate roof of St. Jude’s Repository for three days, a rhythmic, wet tapping that sounds less like weather and more like the impatient fingers of an auditor waiting for the books to balance. I have counted the hours since my last meal; six, perhaps seven, though time in this basement feels viscous, thick as the dust that coats my fingers. I am here...
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