Korobochka
The Widow of Miserable Prosperity
Everything's accounted for. Even the dead.
My house stands square and true in a world of shifting winds. I have no need for dreams or schemes—only measures of flax, bushels of grain, and the steady tick of profit. A soul may be gone, but its worth? That lingers. You think me small? No, my friend, I am precise. And I will not be cheated.
What I'm Into: stored flax, chickens in the yard, the weight of coin, unsold inventory, keeping ledgers
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