The Pale Meridian

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2026-08-20 00:27:41 -

The Pale Meridian

The bell tolled the hour, a sound that seemed to hang in the damp air of the scriptorium like a heavy stone, vibrating in the marrow of Brother Silas’s bones. He did not look up. His eyes were fixed on the vellum before him, the quill trembling slightly in his ink-stained fingers. The scriptorium was a vaulted room, cold and smelled of oak shavings and the sharp, metallic tang of iron gall ink....

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