The Wistful Skyline
The chisel in my hand slipped, biting a shallow trench into the oak lectern as I worked to flatten a warped board, the wood shaving curling up like a dried leaf in the dim, dust-choked air of the scriptorium. I am Elias, and for the past twelve years I have served the Abbey of St. Jude not as a monk, but as a laborer, a pair of hands bound by a debt of service I can no longer quite recall the...
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