The Pale Verdict
The parchment lay on the stone table, its edges curling like dry leaves, and I read the list of herbs required for the tincture a third time before I could trust my memory to hold the quantities. The smell of the scriptorium hit me first, a thick, cloying mixture of oak gall ink, damp wool, and the faint, sweet rot of the vellum I had been repairing for three days; it was a scent that had...
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