The Wistful Dinner
The stone floor of the Abbey Archive was cold enough to bite through the soles of Elias’s boots. He did not shiver, though his breath misted in the dim, vaulted air. He had twelve hours to finish the inventory of the Scriptorium’s eastern wing. The promotion was promised to the clerk who completed the count before the winter solstice. Elias checked the hourglass on the desk. It was half empty....
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