The Wistful Dinner
The ink on the parchment had long since dried into a faint, ghostly scar, yet Elias Thorne still held the quill as if it were a weapon, or perhaps a penance, suspended in the heavy, candle-lit air of the Scriptorium. He was the Keeper of the Word, a title that in the ancient, fog-drenched kingdom of Aethelgard carried the weight of a man who had seen the horizon burn and the sky fall, and in...
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