The Distant Joke

added blog Literature

2026-08-24 02:58:37 -

The Distant Joke

The quill scratched against the vellum, a sound like dry leaves skittering across stone. Thomas Bradshaw did not look up. His eyes were fixed on the line of text he was currently forming, the letters of the *Liber Vitae* taking shape in a hand that was no longer entirely his own. The smell of the scriptorium was thick, a dense fog of oak gall ink, stale beeswax, and the damp, earthen scent of...

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