The Wistful Show
The nib bites into your skin before it touches the parchment. You are Elias, twelve years old, and you are bleeding ink. The scriptorium of the Obsidian Order is a cathedral of silence and damp, where the air smells of iron and dried blood. Your hands tremble as you trace the final clause of the Grand Codex, the monthly audit looming like a guillotine. The rule is absolute: every word you write...
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