The waif-like boy’s tale has wound a spell around me. I’m back at the slave auction, waiting for an opportunity to escape before they ink my skin. I already know the story–I was there–but the stirring voice of the slave elucidating the drama is captivating. It didn’t feel like an inspirational tale while it was happening. But that’s what Whisperers do, isn’t it? They inject meaning into wretched situations to feed it to their ravenous audience.

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