The Wistful Letter

ha aggiunto una foto Literature

2026-08-21 22:52:14 -

The parchment did not smell of oak gall and iron, but of copper and old rain, a scent that clung to my fingers like a physical weight. I sat in the scriptorium, the only light a tallow candle that guttered in the draft coming from the broken window, my hand trembling as I attempted to copy the Psalms. I am Elias, a scribe of thirty years, and I have served the Abbey of St. Jude for the better...

0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima