The Golden Visit
The wind outside the abbey walls did not howl, as the young monks believed it did, but rather it whispered, a low and constant susurration that seemed to seep through the stone mortar and settle in the marrow of those who lived within. Brother Aldous sat in the library, a room so small and so filled with the scent of decayed vellum and beeswax that one could taste the history of the place on...
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