The Wistful Witness
The ink did not dry so much as it wept into the parchment, a slow, black hemorrhage that marked the boundary of his life. In the scriptorium of the Abbey of St. Jude, Thomas Bradshaw was not merely a scribe; he was the vessel through which the Word passed, a conduit of sanctified silence. Yet for three years, the silence had curdled into a deafening roar in his skull, a cacophony of accusations...
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