The Faded Bouquet
The letter lay on the workbench, its seal broken, the ink still wet with the prior’s impatience. It demanded the rose window be restored by the feast of All Saints, or Elias would be expelled from the cathedral and his name struck from the guild rolls. You read it twice, your fingers trembling so violently that the parchment fluttered like a dying leaf. The palsy had started in the winter, a...
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