The Golden Visit
The quill trembled. It was a fine instrument, cut from a goose wing, but in Elias’s hand it became a needle of panic. The ink, a soot-black liquid mixed with gum arabic, pooled at the nib, refusing to flow with the grace required for the Bishop’s commission. Elias, forty-two and once the pride of the city’s scriptorium, stared at the vellum. The letters were supposed to be elegant, a devotional...
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