The Distant Legend
The rain against the high, narrow windows of the Abbey of St. Jude was a constant, rhythmic drumming that Elias had long since learned to ignore, a white noise that masked the scratching of quills and the heavy, damp smell of decaying parchment that permeated the scriptorium. He was thirty-two years old, a junior scribe with ink permanently stained into the whorls of his fingerprints, and his...
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