The Wistful Witness
The quill in Elias Thorne’s hand weighed as much as a lead shot, a heavy, wet thing that dragged against the vellum with a friction that felt less like writing and more like tearing. He was fifty-two years old, a master scribe of the Abbey’s Chronicle, and in the bitter winter of 1342, his primary concern was not the glory of God but the security of his pension, a sum that required the...
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