The Distant Affair
The quill sat heavy in Thomas Bradshaw’s hand, the nib dry and cracked, holding a single drop of ink that refused to fall. He was thirty years old, a scribe of modest talent and considerable debt, and he held the pen over the final page of Master Aldous’s chronicle, a work that was meant to secure his release from the manor’s service. The ink did not fall. It sat there, a black bead of...
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