The Faded Apartment
Act I What does a man owe a woman when the debt is written in ink that refuses to dry? I ask this because the rain has soaked through the wool of my coat, chilling the skin where the manuscript presses against my ribs, and I am standing in the courtyard of the Sufi lodge with the water dripping from my hair onto the stone, watching the dark stain spread across my wrist like a bruise that will...
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