The Faded River
The gold leaf did not stick; it peeled away from the parchment in long, shivering strips, revealing the raw, white vulnerability of the skin beneath, a flaking that mirrored the rotting conscience of Brother Elias, a scribe whose fingers were permanently stained with the black ink of his own secrets. In the damp, candlelit scriptorium of the Abbey of St. Jude, where the air hung heavy with the...
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