The Golden Visit
The iron gate of the workshop was already locked when the first snow of the solstice season began to fall, a heavy, wet blanket that smothered the sound of my own breathing as I stood on the other side, watching the candlelight flicker through the stained glass of the scriptorium. I am Elias, twelve years old, and I have spent the last three months scrubbing the vellum with pumice and weak...
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