The Distant Temple
The bell tolled, a dull, bronze thud that vibrated in the floorboards, and then the voice of Brother Thomas cut through the damp air, sharp and final. "Elara, the ink is drying. Come." She did not look up immediately. Her eyes were fixed on the vellum, on the black liquid pooling in the well of her quill, a substance that did not look like ink but like a tear of night itself. This was the...
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