The Wistful Petal
The arrow strikes the stained glass three inches from your left ear, shattering the rose window into a thousand glittering shards that rain down upon the scriptorium floor. You do not flinch. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, a clerk of the third order, and you have exactly four days left to complete the Bishop’s illuminated psalter if you are to secure the pension that will keep you...
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