The Wistful Letter
The inkwell was cracked, a hairline fracture running from the lip to the base, and you held it with the same care a mason gives a load-bearing stone. It was the only vessel in the scriptorium that did not leak, though it cost three silver marks to repair and the Abbot had deducted the sum from your wages, leaving you with nothing but the smell of oak gall and the aching hunger in your belly....
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