The Pale Echo
The ink in the ledger did not dry; it bled. Elias Thorne watched the black fluid creep across the vellum, a slow, viscous stain spreading from the date *October 14, 1342*, toward the margin where his own name was written in a hand that was not his. The air in the archive of the Abbey of St. Jude was thick with the scent of damp stone and old wax, a suffocating weight that pressed against his...
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