The Pale Meridian
The ink did not dry; it wept. Elias wiped his thumb across the vellum, smearing the capital letter ‘A’ of the Genesis account into a dark, wet smear that looked less like a script and more like a bruise. It was the third day of November, the wind howling against the leaded glass of the scriptorium with a sound like grinding teeth, and the winter solstice was two weeks away. If the manuscript...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen