The Distant Journey
The bill was pinned to the wall with a rusted nail, its corners curling away from the damp plaster like the wings of a dying moth. You read the numbers again, your eyes tracing the ink until the figures blurred into a single, jagged line: three hundred marks owed to the Guild of Scribes, a debt accumulated over four years of copying the mundane ledgers of the Merchant Prince while your lungs...
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