The Mirror of Saint Benedict
ACT I The rain fell on the hill like tears on a face that had forgotten how to weep. Elias Thorn knelt before the altar of Saint Augustine's Hermitage, his knees pressing into stone worn smooth by six centuries of devotion. Above him, the image of the warrior saint—iron-clad, grim-faced, eyes like hollow pits—seemed to watch him with something between pity and impatience. The hermitage was...
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