The Wistful Saga
"You’re bleeding again, Thomas." The words hung in the cold air of the scribe’s room, sharp and final, cutting through the rhythmic scratching of my quill against the parchment. I did not look up from the ledger, though my hand had stopped moving, the tip of the nib hovering over the inkwell, trembling so violently that a single drop fell, black and heavy, onto the white page. It spread like a...
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