The Faded Alibi
Elias, the Abbot’s voice cut through the scriptorium like a blade through wet wool, sharp and final, stopping the scratching of quills across the entire room. You sat up in your narrow bed in the dormitory, the straw ticking under your weight, and the dream was already dissolving into the grey light of the chapel window, but the image of the hand remained, severed at the wrist, the skin pale...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews