The Distant Summer
The quill in your hand feels less like a tool and more like a needle, pricking the air with a fine, metallic chill. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, and for the last decade you have served as a junior archivist in the scriptorium of Saint Jude’s, a role that demands the patience of a stone and the silence of a grave. Your fingers are stained permanently with oak gall ink, a dark map...
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