The Faded Dust
The rain in 1348 did not wash the village of Oakhaven clean; it only made the mud deeper and the fear heavier. Elara, a scribe of thirty-two years, sat in the scriptorium with her quill poised over a blank page, her hand trembling not from the cold that seeped through the stone walls, but from the knowledge that had just been forbidden to her. The Abbot, a man whose robes were stained with the...
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