The Wistful Skyline
The ink had not yet dried on the parchment when the bells began to toll, a low, mournful thrum that seemed to rise from the very stones of the keep rather than the tower above, and Elias stood in the center of the scriptorium, his hands trembling so violently that the quill scratched a jagged, ugly line through the pristine vellum, ruining a page that had taken him three weeks to transcribe,...
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