The Distant Affair
The ink did not dry; it grew. Elias Thorne watched the black tendrils spread from the nib of his quill, weaving a dark lattice across the parchment that defied the geometry of the lettering. It was the year of the Lord 1348, and the Abbey of St. Jude stood like a stone tooth against the grey sky, a place where the air tasted of damp wool and old secrets. Elias, a scribe of thirty-two years, had...
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