The Distant Affair
The nib of your quill scrapes against the vellum, a sound like a fingernail dragging down a chalkboard, and you are copying the final chapter of the *Liber Vitae* with the steady, mechanical precision that has kept you alive in this abbey for the last ten years. You are Elias, thirty-two, and you are the only scribe who has not gone mad, which is a distinction that weighs on you more heavily...
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