The Faded Portrait
The quill lay still in Elias’s hand, its tip heavy with ink that had begun to dry into a black crust. He stared at the parchment, where the face of Brother Thomas was slowly dissolving into a blur of brown and grey. The candle flame in the corner guttered, casting long, distorted shadows against the stone walls of the scriptorium. Elias adjusted his grip, the wood of the quill slick with sweat....
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