The Wistful Cipher
The ink on the ledger pages was still wet, a dark and trembling testament to the hours that Master Aldric had spent hunched over the oak desk, his quill scratching out the accounts of the Abbey’s silent, suffocating economy while the candlelight flickered against the stone walls like a dying heartbeat. He did not look up when the heavy oak door creaked open, for he knew the footsteps, the...
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