The Wistful Incense
The ink was red. It had been red for three years, ever since the last lie Thomas had told. He stood in the scriptorium, the heat of the candle catching the crimson veins that pulsed beneath his skin, and he looked at the manuscript. The *Wistful Incense*. It was not a book of heresy, not in the way the Bishop claimed. It was a record of the silence. But the Church did not want silence. The...
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