The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-19 20:57:32 -

The wind did not howl. It whispered. A low, continuous hum against the stone walls of the Abbey. We lived in the shadow of the spire. The air tasted of wet moss and old iron. I was the scribe. My name was Elias. I was from the East. My face was too pale. My eyes were too dark. They looked at me. They did not look at me. They looked through me. The Abbot sat high. His voice was a stone dropped...

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