The Distant Ghost
Act I Franca Lancia’s fingers were stained black with the soot from the chimney sweep’s tools as she scrubbed the lintel, the bristles snapping against the wood grain while the banquet roared behind the heavy oak doors. She was twelve, small for her age, and the weight of the household’s gaze pressed against her shoulders like a wet wool coat, damp and suffocating. Inside, the high table was...
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