The Faded Sutra
The letter lay on the cold stone table, its ink still wet, smelling of iron and regret. It was a list of names, crossed out in red, signed by Prior Aldous with a hand that trembled only slightly. Thomas read it twice, the parchment rough against his cracked lips, and then he folded it into a small square that fit in his palm. Outside, the wind howled through the cracks in the monastery walls, a...
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