The Distant Affair
The ink on the vellum is still wet, a dark, viscous mirror reflecting the trembling candlelight. You hold the quill with a grip that has whitened your knuckles, the nib scratching against the parchment with a sound like dry leaves skittering across a stone floor. This is the Hall of Records, a subterranean vault beneath the Abbey of Saint Jude, where the air is thick with the smell of oak gall,...
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