The Faded Root
Act I The pestle ground the dried root into a grey powder, the friction heating the stone until it burned Amina Nyembo’s palm, a pain that mirrored the sharp, jagged tear in her chest as the wasting sickness seized her breath. She was thirty-two, her hands steady only through the sheer force of will that kept them from shaking, and the cellar air was thick with the damp, rotting smell of the...
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