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Grandmother's Satchel, Full of Tongues - Flash Fiction Online
Only the desperate follow the trail of rumor to my grotto beneath the marketplace, hidden behind a curtain of thorny vines. Glossa is a witch, they say. An enchantress. But, eventually, they come. Purple shadows ring Siopi’s eyes when she seeks out my den. The purple might be weariness, save for the sickly yellow mottling …