The Golden Master
The ink was already dry before the accusation had fully formed, a fact that Onna Cirrus knew with the cold certainty of a stone dropped into deep water. She stood in the scriptorium, the air heavy with rendered tallow and old vellum, while the elder, Kaelen of the High Cliff, pointed a trembling finger at the page before him. "You have written her name in the binding," he said, his voice low...
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