The Wistful Cipher
"The ink is bleeding again, Elias. Are you trying to drown the page, or yourself?" Brother Anselm’s voice was dry as the parchment beneath your quill, a sound like dry leaves scraping across stone. You did not look up from the *Codex Aureum*. The nib of your goose-feather pen hovered over the vellum, trembling not from the cold that seeped through the walls of the sealed scriptorium, but from...
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