The Distant Temple
Chapter One I was twelve when the war came to Venice, and I was already tired of the cold. It is a specific kind of cold that settles in the bones of the old houses near the shipyards, a dampness that no fire can chase away. I held the obsidian mirror in my lap. It was cracked down the center, a jagged line like a river delta seen from a great height. My mother had died in the winter before,...
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