The Distant Temple
Who keeps the walls from falling when the ink runs dry? Gro Halvorsen stood in the archive of unfiled boxes, the greenish light before the hailstorm pressing against the single windowpane, his fingers trembling over the final folio of the temple’s history. The parchment was cold, slick with a moisture that was not sweat, and a single glyph near the margin had begun to bleed, a dark vein of iron...
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