The Golden Quest
The air in the scriptorium was thick with the scent of oak gall and dried lavender, a perfume that had permeated the very stones of the monastery for three hundred years, and it was into this stale, sacred atmosphere that Master Aldous stepped, his shadow stretching long and thin across the floor of polished flagstones. He carried no lantern, for the window high above admitted a pale, spectral...
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