The Golden Ritual
The quill snapped. Thomas wiped the black smear from his thumb, his breath hitching in a shallow, wet rhythm. He looked up. The candle flame in the corner of the scriptorium trembled, not from a draft, but from the sheer weight of the silence pressing against the stone walls. Outside, the bells of St. Mary’s had stopped ringing an hour ago. No one was left to pull the ropes. Or perhaps the...
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