The Pale Protocol
The bell has not rung in three days. The silence in the scriptorium is heavy, a physical weight that presses against the ears and the chest. I am Elias. I am forty years old, and I am the scribe. The plague has taken the village below the abbey walls, but it has not yet touched us. Not yet. The Abbot says the Pale Protocol holds the rot at bay. He says it is a garment of divine order. I know it...
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