The Distant Ghost
The petition lay on the Abbot’s desk, a fragile rectangle of vellum that seemed to shrink under the weight of his silence. I stood before him, my hands trembling not from the cold that seeped through the stone floor of the scriptorium, but from the primal, animal fear of losing my son. Thomas was in the debtors’ cell, a man of twenty years crushed under a debt he did not understand, a legacy of...
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