The Pale Altar
The ink in the well of the Abbey of St. Jude did not behave like water, nor did it behave like the gall and oak-gall mixtures used by the scribes of Canterbury or Paris. It was a viscous, living thing, a dark slurry that resisted the nib of the quill until the truth was spoken, and it bled into the vellum with a wet, grey smear whenever a lie hung heavy in the air. Brother Thomas, a man of...
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