The Distant Blade
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a fine, grey mist that clung to the wool of Elias Thorne’s coat as he walked the cobblestone path toward the heavy oak doors of the St. Jude’s Manuscript Conservatory. He was a man who lived in the margins of history, a scholar of palimpsests and faded ink, and he carried with him the weight of a secret that had been growing inside him like a...
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