The Faded Photograph
The candle flame in the scriptorium did not so much burn as it trembled, a thin, pale thread of light that seemed to stretch and snap in the heavy, damp air, casting long, wavering shadows that danced against the stone walls of the Abbey of St. Jude. Brother Thomas sat hunched over the desk, his eyes fixed on the final page of the *Codex Aeternum*, the parchment yellowed and brittle, the ink so...
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