The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-23 11:48:26 -

The parchment lay on the oak desk, the ink still wet and smelling of iron and gall. It was a decree from Abbot Silas, signed in a hand that trembled slightly, as if the old man’s grip had loosened in the final, decisive stroke. Elias read it twice, the words blurring into a single, heavy block of command: *All personal garments, especially those of the deceased, are to be surrendered for the...

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