The Wistful Skyline
The Abbot stood in the doorway of the scriptorium, his shadow lengthening across the stone floor until it swallowed the light from the single candle, and he told me with a voice like grinding stone that the final chapter of the Liber Mortis was forbidden. "The ink is tainted, Elias," he said, his eyes fixed on a point just above my left shoulder, "and if you write another word, your blood will...
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