The Pale Meridian

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 18:28:19 -

The Pale Meridian

Elias. The voice came from the shadows of the scriptorium, low and grinding like stones in a mill. I looked up from the vellum, my quill hovering, the tip trembling. Abbot Cael stood there, his black robes swallowing the candlelight, his face a mask of carved indifference. The air in the room was thick with the smell of beeswax and old paper, a scent that had seeped into my clothes, my hair, my...

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