The Faded Alibi
Elias. The name hangs in the air, thin and sharp, spoken by the Abbot with the weary finality of a man closing a ledger. You are here to transcribe the final page of the *Liber Vitiis*, the Book of Sins, and you will do so before the vespers bell rings, or your tenure is revoked and your wages halved. The scriptorium smells of damp stone and the metallic tang of iron gall ink, a scent that has...
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