The Distant Blade
The ink on the parchment was not merely black, but a deep, bruised purple that seemed to absorb the dim light of the scriptorium, pooling in the hollows of the letters like water in a cracked basin. Elias sat hunched over the oak table, his spine curved like a bowstring under tension, the quill in his hand trembling with a faint, rhythmic vibration that matched the thumping in his temples. He...
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