The Golden Maze
Act I "You are burning your hands, Anouk. The ink will not dry if the skin is too hot." The Abbot’s voice was low, a dry rasp that seemed to scrape against the rough-hewn beams of the scriptorium. Anouk Vasseur did not look up from the parchment. He felt the heat in his palms, a dull, throbbing ache that had nothing to do with the candlelight and everything to do with the marks now blooming...
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