The Wistful Silence
Act I Ana Esteves had always believed that weight was a problem to be solved, a variable in an equation that balanced out if one was precise enough. She stood now in the mud of the Alfama steps, her boots sinking into the silt that smelled of rot and diesel, looking at the bridge that was supposed to hold the city together. The water around the pilings hummed, a low, grinding vibration that she...
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