The Faded River
The ink was drying on the parchment before I could even blink, a slow, dark bloom spreading across the vellum like a bruise forming under skin. I held the quill steady, my hand trembling not from fear, but from the sheer, exhausting weight of the silence in the scriptorium. Brother Thomas stood over me, his shadow a long, jagged thing stretching across the cold stone floor, his eyes fixed on my...
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