The Wistful Silence
Act I "You are late, Hassan," the Duke said, his voice flat as a stone in the Nile. "The tax boat arrives early this year. We have no time for your dreams." I stood in the center of the keep, the cold seeping through my wool tunic, my right hand twitching at my side. It was a small, involuntary spasm, but in the silence of the room, it sounded like a crack of dry wood. I wanted to execute the...
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