The Golden Scar
"Put the quill down, Thomas. You are shaking." I did not put the quill down. I held it tighter, the wood biting into my palm, and looked up at Master Aldous. His hand was trembling on the desk, a fine vibration that ran up his wrist and into the shoulder, a shake that had nothing to do with the cold. The candle on the table flickered, casting long, wavering shadows across the vellum of the...
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