The Wistful Grid
"Stay back. The Abbot has sealed the crypt." I pulled my hand from the ledger, the ink still wet on the page, and looked at Elias. He stood in the doorway of the scriptorium, his face pale under the gaslight, his hands trembling around a leather-bound journal. The air in the room hummed, a low vibration that I had learned to ignore by counting the seconds between the chimes of the clock. It was...
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