The Wistful Dinner

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 18:35:09 -

The air in the high tower of the Abbey of St. Jude did not smell of incense, as one might expect in a place dedicated to the dead and the divine, but of damp wool and the metallic tang of old blood. Marguerite sat alone in the scriptorium, the candlelight trembling against the stone walls, casting long, jagged shadows that seemed to breathe with the rhythm of her own heavy chest. She was not a...

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