The Wistful Incense
The parchment lay on the oak desk, cold and damp with the breath of the cellar, and Brother Elias held the quill with a grip that had turned his knuckles white. He was reading the final illumination, a complex geometric knot of gold leaf and lapis lazuli that he had spent six years perfecting, the ink still wet and glistening in the dim light of the scriptorium. The stain was there, a dark,...
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