The Distant Blade
The ink had not yet dried on the parchment when the weight of the iron plate began to sink into the wax seal, a slow, deliberate crushing that felt less like a mechanical act and more like the closing of a heavy, velvet eyelid over a sleeping eye. Thomas Ashworth watched the seal form, his fingers trembling not from the cold that seeped through the stone floor of the scriptorium, but from the...
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