The Golden Suspect
Elara, you are summoned. The voice of the High Inquisitor, Aldous, cuts through the heavy air of the scriptorium, sharp as a chisel striking stone. He does not raise his head from his own work, his quill scratching a dry, rhythmic cadence against the vellum, but the silence that follows his words is heavier than any shout. You set down your pen, the wet ink still glistening on the tip, a black...
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