The Wistful Witness
The snow had not stopped for three days, and the silence of the scriptorium was a physical weight, pressing against my eardrums. I am Elias, a scribe of forty years, and I sit alone in the cell of St. Jude, the wind howling through the cracks in the stone like a dying man. My task is simple, yet it has become a torment: to complete the final folio of the *Liber Vitae* for Bishop Aldric before...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 2 Views 0 previzualizare