The Faded Dust
The scriptorium of the Duke of Valois was a cathedral of silence, a vast, echoing chamber where the dust motes hung suspended in the shafts of pale afternoon light, and it was here that Thomas Bradshaw, a squire of twelve years with eyes that burned with a feverish, light-hearted intensity, stood alone before the Duke’s final testament. He wanted the ink to speak, wanted to decipher the...
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