The Distant Temple
"You’ll drown in your own stubbornness if you don’t let it go," Father said, his voice flat as the dried paddy outside. I stood in the courtyard, the cracked clay lamp cold in my hands, the weight of it pressing into my palms like a bruise. It was 1348, and the air hung with the promise of the monsoon, a dampness that seeped into the joints before the rain even touched the roof. I wanted to...
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