The Distant Temple
The ink was still wet on the final folio when the shadow spoke. It did not speak with a voice, for shadows possess no vocal cords, yet the whisper slithered into Elara’s ear with the precise, mechanical clarity of a scribe’s reed pen scratching against parchment. *Your logic is a lie.* Elara, thirty years old and possessed of hands that had copied more heretical texts than any other woman in...
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