Transcription

The noble monk, cloistered, sat hunched over a stack of thick papers. His pen, dipped in the tables ink well without looking, took up the perfect amount of ink. Reading from the page on his left, transcribing to the page on his right, beads of sweat suddenly bubbled up from the beneath the stoic, precise exterior. For there, emblazoned beneath his right hand where the word of god should be, had appeared an abomination. He must have written it, yet it seemed to have come out of nowhere. “You will stop writing this garbage, it is not my will.”