The Faded Chronicle
The letter lay on the oak desk, its edges curling slightly in the damp air of the scriptorium. Brother Thomas read it twice, the parchment slick against his fingertips, the ink a dark, wet brown that seemed to drink the candlelight. It was a simple notice from the Abbot, stating that the final page of the Chronicle of St. Jude must be completed before the winter solstice, or Thomas would be...
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