The Faded River
Act I "Put the slate down, Camille. You’re going to crack it." I looked at the half-erased school slate in my hands, the chalk dust still clinging to the grain like snow. It was a piece of trash from the old schoolroom, one of ninety-six of Marsh Hollow, but to Monsieur Vasseur it was a map. He stood by the window, the glass fogged with the damp that always seeped in from the dead volcanoes...
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