The Distant Affair
The silver clasp sat in the crook of your arm, heavy and warm, a weight that felt less like metal and more like a second heartbeat thudding against your ribs. You had stolen it from the Abbot’s vestments an hour before Vespers, slipping your hand into the folds of his purple cope while he prayed, and now, hiding in the shadowed alcove of the scriptorium, you could feel the heat radiating from...
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