The Pale Protocol
The parchment lay on the oak desk, heavy with the weight of its own blankness. I ran my thumb over the edge, feeling the rough tooth of the calfskin, and waited for the Abbot to speak. He did not look at me. He looked at the window, where the grey November light was failing fast, turning the scriptorium into a tomb of shadows. " The Codex Luminis is unfinished," he said. His voice was dry, like...
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