The Wistful Incense

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2026-08-20 12:13:48 -

The bell rang. It was not a song. It was a hammer. It struck the bronze in the tower of St. Jude’s. I heard it. I always heard it. My name is Thomas. I was twelve. I was a scribe. I was a boy. The air in the scriptorium smelled of dust. It smelled of dried ink. It smelled of rot. Father Malachi stood before me. He was tall. He was grey. He was a wall. He held a scroll. It was white. It was...

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