The Distant Clue
The year was 1348, and the air in the capital tasted of iron and rot, a metallic tang that clung to the back of Elias Thorne’s throat even after he had rinsed it with wine. He sat in the cramped study of his modest house, the candlelight flickering against the shelves of forbidden texts, while across the room his wife, Elara, lay in a bed of damp sheets, her skin translucent as parchment, her...
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