The Wistful Voyage
The hand is always clean. I scrub it until the skin turns red, then white, then translucent. The lye burns. I do not care. The water runs down the drain, swirling, taking the suds with it. It never takes the stain. My name is Elara. I am the hand of the House of Vane. I am the hand that signs the treaties. I am the hand that breaks the bread. I am the hand that holds the child before the fever...
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