The Faded Sutra
The letter lay on the damp stone floor of the cellar, the ink smudged where the wick of the tallow candle had dripped onto the parchment. It was a summons, signed by Father Aldous, the elder priest who had taught young Elian to grind his own ink and bind his own books, but the words were not of instruction; they were of condemnation. Elian, twelve years old and an apprentice of the scriptorium,...
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