The Scribe of the Black Death
The year was 1348, and the world was ending in a fever of blood and boils. In the remote valley of the Alps, the Monastery of St. Jude stood as a lonely sentinel against the encroaching darkness. Outside its walls, the villages were silent, the air thick with the smell of vinegar and burning corpses. Inside, the monks moved like ghosts, their faces hidden behind leather masks filled with...
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