The Pale Verdict
The autumn of 1348 settled over Bruges like a wet wool blanket, heavy and suffocating, and you, Elias, stood before the great rose window of the Guild Hall with your hands trembling so violently that the diamond tip of your cutter slipped and scored a line through the lead came. You were forty years old, a master glazier, and your life’s work hung in the frame above you, a mosaic of saints and...
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