The Faded Alibi
The Abbot’s voice, low and dry as the parchment he held, cut through the silence of the scriptorium, where the only other sound was the scratch of quills against the vellum of the junior monks. "You will cease this transcription immediately, Thomas; the *Liber Vitae* is a record of the living, not a vessel for the dead, and your hands are stained with what I suspect is not ink but something far...
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