The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-24 07:06:01 -

The quill bit into the parchment, a sharp, wet sound that cut through the silence of the scriptorium, and I watched the ink bleed out from the nib, dark and viscous as arterial blood. My left hand was trembling, the fingers locked in a spasm that had nothing to do with the cold seeping through the stone floor, but everything to do with the rot that had begun to eat at the joints of my knuckles....

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