The Faded Attic
The ink bled into the parchment with a slow, viscous grief, spreading like a bruise across the skin of the ancient vellum, a dark starburst that consumed the letters of the oath and left only a void where the name of God should have been, and Thomas stood in the center of the great scriptorium, the air thick with the smell of oak gall and iron, watching the stain expand until it swallowed the...
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