The Wistful Silence
Chapter One In the damp stone halls of the border town, silence was not an absence of sound but a heavy, breathing thing. Vernon Aldridge sat in the scriptorium, the cold biting through his thin tunic, his quill trembling over a sheet of parchment that smelled of wet earth. He was thirty years old, a scribe by trade and a brother by instinct, and he needed to finish the final document for his...
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