The Faded Alibi
The bell in the tower of St. Jude’s did not ring. It cracked. A sound like a bone snapping under the heel of a god, followed by a silence so heavy it pressed against Elyse’s eardrums. She stood in the scriptorium, the air thick with the dust of ground oak gall and the sharp, metallic tang of iron gall ink. The fire had gone out an hour ago. The cold was a living thing, creeping up her legs,...
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