The Faded Alibi
The rain in the city of Oakhaven does not wash things clean. It only makes the grime slick. You know this because you have lived here for forty years, counting every drop that hits the slate roof of your mother’s cottage. You are a woman of the lower wards, though your name, Eleanor, suggests a lineage of silk and spires. It is a lie your father told to save you. You are a washerwoman. Your...
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