The Pale Protocol
You are to hand over the Codex by vespers, or you will be stripped of your habit. The voice in my head is not Malachi’s, though it wears his cadence, that dry, papery rasp that sounds like a leaf skittering across stone. I write this in the dark, the candle guttering, the ink of my own hand still wet and black, but the ink of the *Codex Aureus* is moving. It is October, the fourth day. The moon...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews