The Faded Portrait
Chapter One Litsa Nikolaidis owed forty ducats to the bank before she had even finished waking up. The debt was not abstract; it was a weight in her left hip, a limp that had grown since her husband died, and it was a number that dictated every breath she took in the small, stone-walled house that shared its back wall with the tannery. The smell hit her first, a thick, sour reek of urine and...
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