The Distant Promise
Act I I was grinding the indigo into the paste when the bell rang, a single, sharp note that cut through the sleet hammering against the lattice windows. My hands were stained blue up to the wrists, the cold water numbing the skin as I scrubbed the dye from the court robe, a task I had performed for twelve years under the shadow of the High Treasurer. Dimitra Bakolas, the name on the eviction...
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