The Distant Temple
The ink is moving again, Elias. You look down at the page, the vellum cracked and yellowed, and the black script is weeping. It is not a metaphor. The letters of the final chapter are bleeding into the fibers of the paper, spreading like a bruise under skin. You pull your hand back. Your fingers are trembling, a fine, persistent vibration that you have learned to mistake for the cold. The...
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