The Distant Affair
The quill snapped against the parchment, a sharp, brittle sound that cut through the silence of the scriptorium like a bone breaking. Elias Thorne did not look up. His eyes, bloodshot and fever-bright, were fixed on the line of text he had just inscribed, the letters glistening with a wet, oily sheen that refused to dry. It was the autumn of 1342, and the wind howled through the narrow windows...
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