The Distant Joke
Act I Esperanza Echevarria’s hands, still stiff from the climb up one hundred and nine of the Tannery Steps, gripped the iron latch of the manor door. The wind off the plateau bit at her knuckles, a physical fact that made the silence of the house feel heavier. She had come to retrieve the ledger before the solstice, driven by a memory that was already beginning to fray at the edges, the names...
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