The Distant Wound
Act I Luigi Rinaldi, the dye-house overseer of forty-two Stonecutter Alley, carried the weight of the bronze bell in his left hand, a cold, heavy thing that had not been rung in three years. The tide was high, pushing the salt water up through the cracks in the granary floor, and the wind howled through the gaps in the shuttered windows, making the air feel thin and sharp against his skin. He...
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