The Wistful Voyage
Act I Who can truly measure the weight of a silence? It is a question that has no answer, only a cost. The cost is paid in silver, in time, and in the slow erosion of the self. Jesus Echevarria stands before the mirror, his hands trembling not with cold, but with the vibration of the glass beneath his fingertips. He is a man of forty years, a pharmacist in a fog-bound port, yet he feels like a...
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