The Golden Farce
Chapter One Meena Khan, thirty-two years old, warden of the Ink Prison, stood in the center of the ballroom between seasons, where the air hung with the damp rot of old paper and the silence was so heavy it pressed against my eardrums. I had spent the last six years overseeing the dye-house, where the indigo vats turned the water the color of a bruised sky, and my hands were permanently stained...
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