The Distant Affair

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2026-08-22 17:01:09 -

The quill in Elias’s hand was a goose feather, the quill shaft worn smooth by three years of grinding against the same block of oak, and the nib, split at the tip, bled a thin line of iron-gall ink that smelled of copper and old rain. He sat in the corner of the scriptorium at St. Jude’s, the damp stone floor seeping cold through the soles of his leather shoes, his eyes fixed on the parchment...

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