The Sanguine Prayer
The year was 1348, and the world was ending in a fever of blood and black boils. In the village of Oakhaven, the air was thick with the scent of burning rosemary and the screams of the dying. The church bells tolled incessantly, a rhythmic knell that sounded less like a call to prayer and more like a countdown to oblivion. Alaric stood in the damp silence of the monastery's hidden scriptorium,...
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