The Wistful Cipher
"Put it down, Fatima. You are not a witch, you are a fool." The voice belonged to Youssef, the town’s only notary, a man whose ink-stained fingers weighed more than his words. Fatima Nasser stood in the doorway of her apothecary, the smell of dried sage and iron clinging to her apron. She was forty years old, and her hands, usually steady as they ground roots and measured drops, trembled with a...
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