Kael stood. He was young, his hands stained with rust from his water-pipes, his voice raw. “Your Honor, I don’t have the cup. I don’t even know what a star’s tear looks like. I sell water for two coppers a jug. I carry a clay pitcher, not a relic.”
“Because a judge’s only power,” she said, “is to remember that every name brought before her belongs to a person. And every person deserves a truth that fits their hands, not someone else’s story.” the judge
“Show me your hands,” she said.
“Go home, Kael. Sell your water. And if anyone ever asks you about the judge in the grey robe… tell them she’s still listening.” Kael stood
That evening, Kael found her in the deserted courtroom, polishing the law-stone. I don’t even know what a star’s tear looks like