The Faded Alibi

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2026-08-24 07:09:53 -

The Faded Alibi

The quill sat in Thomas’s hand, its nib heavy with the weight of the ink, a dark, viscous sludge that smelled of oak gall and iron. He held it over the vellum, the parchment stiff and cold against his fingertips, and waited for the trembling to stop. It was the year of our Lord 1342, and the scriptorium of St. Jude’s was a place where silence was a currency more valuable than gold, traded in...

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