The Pale Echo
"Who did it, Thomas? Speak." The Abbot’s voice was low, a rumble in the stone floor of the scriptorium. Thomas stood by the window, the November wind rattling the leaded panes, and felt the cold seep into his bones. He wanted to answer. He wanted to prove he was more than a novice who swept dust and copied Latin. He wanted to show that his mind could solve what the Abbot’s age had failed to...
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