The Distant Affair
The quill sits in your right hand, the nib dipped in ink so black it seems to swallow the light from the single tallow candle. You are Elias, forty-two years old, and the scribe of St. Jude’s, and you want to finish the illuminated manuscript before the winter solstice so that the Abbot will grant you the pension you have earned through twenty years of bent backs and ruined eyes. The opposing...
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