The Pale Banner
Act I Was it the sickness, or was it the shame that had finally broken the mortar? Tyyne Heinonen stood in the doorway of the cottage on fifty-eight of Candlewick Row, the soot of the nearby ironworks settling into the creases of her wool coat, clutching a pestle worn smooth by three decades of grinding dried hemlock and willow bark. The air inside the house was thick with the metallic tang of...
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