The Pale Shadows
The fire in the scriptorium was not for warmth, but for erasure. Elias watched the vellum curl, the ink bleeding into black ash, as Abbot Cuthbert ordered the destruction of the "corrupt" texts. Elias was thirty-two, a scholar of modest standing, and his hands trembled not from the cold but from the weight of the leather satchel against his hip. Inside lay the final manuscript of his brother,...
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