The Wistful Petal
"The seal must be broken by dawn, or the village falls." The Abbot’s voice did not echo in the scriptorium; it was absorbed by the heavy velvet drapes and the thick, dust-caked walls of the Abbey of St. Jude, leaving only a dry, papery residue in the air. You, Elias, sat at the oak desk, your fingers stained black to the knuckles with the Ink of Silence, a pigment so dense it felt less like...
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