PREVIEW
... notebook. A line of women coil down the street like a carnival queue, full of nervous laughter, glistening anticipation, and wildly inappropriate whispered conversations.
The midday sun pours through the slats of the chief’s home, bathing the porch in gold. Veena sits beside the doorway, clipboard in hand, quill poised. A cool glass of wine sweating gently beside her, untouched.
The door creaks open.
Client #17 steps out.
A half-dwarven woman with braids like tre ...
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