The Pale Shadows

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2026-08-22 12:25:23 -

The Pale Shadows

The quill was wet. Elias Thorne held it between his thumb and forefinger, the feather damp and cold against his skin, the tip trembling just enough to blur the line he intended to draw. It was a small thing, a single hairline fracture in his control, but in the scriptorium, where silence was law and precision was prayer, it was a catastrophe waiting to happen. The air smelled of iron and dried...

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