The Distant Promise
The mud on the road to St. Jude’s was a thick, sucking thing that seemed to pull at my boots with a malice I could not name, and I walked through it with the heavy, leaden certainty of a man who knows he is already dead, having crossed the threshold of the monastery grounds in the year of our Lord 1342 to seek a copy of the lost Gospel of Thomas, a task I had undertaken not for the glory of God...
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