The Golden Farce
Act I "You are wasting your breath, Carmen." The Dean’s voice was flat, bureaucratic, stripped of any warmth by the thin air of the office. Carmen Delgado sat across from him, her hands folded on the desk, watching the ink in her well. It was mixed with ash from the furnace below, a habit she had kept since her father’s days in the glassworks, and it glowed a faint, cold blue whenever she spoke...
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