The Faded Apartment
The weight of the quill was three ounces of silver and bone, a heavy, cold thing that Elias Thorne held with a grip that had once broken shields but now trembled like a leaf in a gale. He counted the hours in the scriptorium of St. Jude’s, a fortified monastery perched on the jagged cliffs of the coast, where the wind did not howl but screamed against the stone like a starving animal. It was...
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