The Pale Circus
The Abbot’s voice cracked through the cold air of the scriptorium, sharp and final. "Elias, you are dismissed from my presence until you have retrieved the Codex of St. Jude. Do not return empty-handed, or do not return at all." I stood, my knees stiff from the hours I had spent hunched over the vellum, and bowed my head. My hands, stained with iron gall ink and dried blood from a papercut that...
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