The Faded Root
The bell did not ring, which was the first wrong thing, because in the old days, the bell at the Abbey of St. Jude was the only thing that kept the hours from bleeding into one another, a heavy bronze tongue that tasted of iron and rain, and now that it had been silenced by the decree of the new Prior, Brother Elias, the silence had a weight to it, a physical pressure that sat on the chests of...
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