The Pale Protocol
October 14, 1348 The coughing has begun to echo in the limestone, a hollow, rhythmic percussion that seems to rise from the floor itself rather than from the boy’s throat. Julian, my apprentice of three years, stands by the scaffold, his face pale as the plaster we have been smoothing, and I watch the shadow of his ribs move beneath his tunic as he tries to suppress the sound, a futile effort...
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