The Distant Affair
The candle guttered, throwing long, trembling shadows across the damp stone floor of the scriptorium. Brother Thomas rubbed his eyes, the grit of exhaustion mixing with the fine dust of parchment, and stared at the vial of saffron ink resting on his desk. It was a small, glass cylinder, unremarkable save for the golden liquid suspended within, a color so deep it looked like dried blood. He...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews