The Distant Affair
The seal on the scriptorium door was not merely a barrier of wax and lead; it was a scream frozen in time, a jagged tear in the parchment reality that Elias had spent three years learning to read. The year was 1348, and the air in the monastery of Saint Jude smelled of rot and lavender, the latter a futile attempt by the brothers to mask the sweet, cloying odor of the Black Death that had...
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