The Golden Farce
I Teresa Palermo did not remember the first time the shadow touched her shoulder, only the weight of it, a heavy, cold cloth draped over the right side of her neck, pressing her spine into a curve that would not straighten. She sat now in the ruins of the old mill, the dry wind cracking the clay of the broken walls around her, and watched the dust of the jade settle on her lips, a fine grey...
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