The Pale Protocol
The quill slipped from my fingers, the nib dragging a jagged, black tear across the parchment before I could catch it, a small, violent interruption to the careful transcription of the final page of Clara’s *The Pale Protocol*. I sat there in the scriptorium, the silence of the monastery pressing against my eardrums like a physical weight, and watched the ink bleed into the fibers of the...
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