The Wistful Dinner

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 11:26:21 -

The rain had not stopped for three days, and the roof of the scriptorium leaked in a steady, rhythmic drip that sounded like a clock counting down to an execution. I sat at the oak desk, my fingers stained black with ink that was not ink, but the blood drawn from my own veins by a ritual older than the Abbey itself. I was Thomas, thirty-two years old, a scribe bound by a debt I could not name...

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