This city belongs to those who keep silent. Silence was the one thing I could never keep. SHORAPAN — is a dark parable of a city beneath a blood-colored sky, and of people who grew used to it, as people grow used to anything. Here they pray to the Mother, pay in fear, and live by seals — scraps of paper that decide whether you live or not. That evening began like a hundred before it: rain against the window, fire in the hearth, wicker under my hands. I didn't yet know it would be the last of its kind. Made entirely by hand:Painting — oil backgrounds, frame by