The Distant Crown
The ink was drying. It always dried in the cold, but today it froze. Elara watched the black pool on the parchment stiffen. She did not blink. She had not blinked in an hour. The candle guttered in the draft from the window, casting long, trembling shadows against the stone walls of the scriptorium. Outside, the city of Oakhaven slept under a blanket of frost. The bells of St. Jude’s had long...
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