The Wistful Dinner
The parchment lay on the desk, its edges frayed and brown, the ink smudged where my thumb had pressed too hard. It was a decree, signed in the Bishop’s looping, authoritative hand, ordering the removal of the great bronze bell from the tower of St. Jude’s. The metal was to be melted down for coinage, the Bishop wrote, to fund the king’s campaign against the borderlands. I read the words again,...
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