The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-23 03:44:07 -

The damp air of the scriptorium at the Abbey of Saint Cuthbert clung to Brother Elias’s skin like a second, heavier garment, thick with the scent of rotting vellum and the stale, waxy tang of tallow candles that burned low in their iron holders. Elias, forty-two years old and possessed of a mind as rigid and unyielding as the oak desk before him, did not shiver despite the November chill that...

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