The Wistful Witness
Act I In the winter camps of the coast, silence was not an absence of sound but a debt owed to the coming day. Colette Gauthier, twelve years old and the daughter of the oyster warden, woke before the washboard rhythm next door could rattle the thin walls of their tent. The dream had come again: shards of glass, not sharp, but heavy, settling into the cracks of her palms. She sat up, the wool...
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