The Pale Tale
The heavy oak door of the Abbey of St. Jude’s clanged shut behind Thomas, sealing the damp, incense-thick air of the scriptorium into a tomb. He did not look back at the corridor where Brother Anselm stood, his face a mask of pious indifference, nor did he look at the long table where the other monks sat in their black habits, their quills scratching a rhythm that sounded like the chattering of...
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