The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-21 23:47:50 -

The Abbot’s voice did not rise; it simply cut the air, a blade laid flat against the throat of the scriptorium. "You treat the Word of God as a commodity, Thorne," Father Clement said, his fingers tapping a rhythmic, damning beat on the oak desk. "Your methods are heretical. Your intent is impure." I stood there, my hands still stained with the iron-gall ink that had refused to dry on the...

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