The Faded Attic
The rain had not stopped for three days, and the dampness of the Abbey’s stone walls had begun to eat into the parchment of the *Codex Lumen*. Elias, a junior scribe of forty years with ink permanently etched into the whorls of his fingers, worked by the light of a single tallow candle, his breath shallow in the cold air. He wanted only to restore the water-damaged pages before the Abbot’s...
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