The Golden Quest
The nib of my quill scratched against the vellum, a sound like a fingernail dragging down a chalkboard, as I copied the name of King Aethelred the Third. The ink bled. It did not dry; it pooled, dark and wet, seeping into the fibers of the parchment like a bruise forming under skin. I wiped my thumb across the page, expecting the wetness to lift onto my skin, but the stain remained, spreading...
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