The Distant Affair
The fire in the great hall of the Abbey of St. Jude was not a fire, but a breath, a long, slow exhalation of smoke and gold that curled around the rafters like the fingers of a god reaching down to pluck the stars, and we, the scribes and the novices, the judges and the condemned, sat in the shadows of its warmth, our faces illuminated in a flickering, spectral orange, watching the wax of the...
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