The Pale Door
The winter of 1347 settled over the Abbey of Saint Cuthbert not as a blanket of snow, but as a suffocating weight of ice that seeped through the limestone walls and into the marrow of those who dwelt within. Elias, a novice of twenty-two years whose lungs had begun to fail him with the slow, grinding persistence of a millstone, sat alone in the scriptorium, the candlelight trembling against the...
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