The Pale Tower
The smell of heated vellum and rabbit skin glue hung thick in the air, a cloying, animal scent that coated the back of Thomas’s throat as his quill scratched across the page, the sound sharp and rhythmic against the silence of the scriptorium, where the other monks had already retreated to their cells, leaving only the flicker of his candle and the distant, hollow drip of water from the roof...
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