The Wistful Silence
The ink is running too thin, Elias." Master Aldric did not look up from his own desk, where a sheaf of parchment lay pinned under a heavy brass weight. The sound of the city outside the scriptorium was a dull, rhythmic thrum, the grinding of millstones and the distant clatter of hooves on cobblestones, a mechanical heartbeat that never quite synchronized with the rain dripping from the eaves....
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