The Faded Root
Immacolata Bellini was twelve years old and her left hand was the only thing in the archive that did not lie. Act I The rain hammered the tin roof of the tithe barn, a relentless, metallic drumming that made the air inside feel thick and wet, like breath on a cold window. Immacolata sat at the heavy oak desk, the wood grain rough and splintered under her right palm, while her left hand hovered...
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