The Distant Temple
The wax was cold, brittle, and smelling faintly of tallow and old blood, and I was trying to press the two halves of the seal back together with the flat of my thumbnail before the ink dried, but the fracture line was too deep, a jagged scar that refused to align, and I knew even then that the document was dead, that the marriage was a corpse we were trying to resuscitate with paper and glue....
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