Part 1: "Volume I"

Female Voice: Oh? Looks like we've got a new arrival.
Male Voice: It's pitch black in here. Can't be sure she's new just yet.
Female Voice: Hey there! Welcome to La Sociedad de Poetas de las Américas!
Male Voice: Or maybe she's one of those who broke out and came back of her own accord?
Male Voice: Keeping quiet, huh? I get it. This must be a sacred moment for you. A "return to the darkness."
Dores: La Sociedad de Poetas ... de las Américas?
The textures she felt on her way here do not match the words she just heard. Guided by her keen hearing, she pauses mid-step in what seems to be a reasonably open space.
The room falls into silence—like the longest minute in human history.
Dores: Are you still there?
A faint cough, a heave of a sigh in the darkness.
Dores: Pardon me, but have we met before? This is my first time in this prison, as far as I can recall.
Female Voice: What a strange thing to say—"prison"! When was the last time we heard someone say that? Back when The Narrator was published?
Female Voice: Wait. You aren't some ancient ghost here in pursuit of realism, are you?
There is a theatrical flair in her voice.
Male Voice: Rusty gates, pitch-black cells—"prison."
Male Voice: Bars for exchanging letters, a peaceful and secluded place—"Sociedad de Poetas."
Male Voice: And no, we don't know you.
The three of them are spaced just far enough apart to barely make out each other's faces in the dark.
Female Voice: What a wonderful example, García. Exactly! It all depends on how you choose to see the world, my new friend.
García: Roberta, we don't have much time. This might be the most important gathering of the month—no, maybe even of the year.
Roberta: You're right, García. At this moment, nothing is more important than the salon the Idealist has so carefully prepared.
García: You should focus on sorting out those manuscripts first.
Dores: Pardon the interruption, but might I ask why your organization is called "La Sociedad de Poetas de las Américas"? I assume it isn't simply due to geography.
Roberta: Don't worry, Señora. We make it a point to introduce our Sociedad to every new friend, but now isn't quite the time. After the salon ends, we'll ask the jailer about your accommodations.
García: Wait a minute. Roberta, your eyes are well-adjusted to the dark. Use them.
García: She's neither a newcomer nor a returnee. She … she's a blind woman.
Roberta: Ah, please forgive García's rudeness, Señora! A sensory limitation can sometimes bring sharper intuition. In that colorful world of the mind, I'm sure what you see is even more beautiful than reality.
Roberta: But … if you weren't brought in by the Physician, then why are you here?
Dores: …
She tries to construct a fiction in her mind, something that could justify the surreal nature of her arrival.
Dores: From the humid trade winds of São Paulo to the crashing surf on the cliffs. Now, this strange land greets me for the first time with nothing but cold silence.
Ms. Grace: "Ms. Urd is to be placed in Ushuaia's Comala Prison. She is not to be treated as an ordinary inmate."
Ms. Grace: In the words of the Preacher, you are our honored guest, Ms. Urd.
Dores: I've come to learn the name of this land, Ushuaia, from that young lady's retelling. It lies at the southernmost tip of the vast continent of South America.
Dores: As we walked, I could feel her gaze upon me. Steady, yet never intrusive. I could tell she meant me no harm.
Ms. Grace: I've informed the administrator of Comala Prison of your identity and special circumstances. He will ensure your safety.
Ms. Grace: Good luck, and farewell.
Dores: I sensed I had been brought to a place most unusual—a building with a quiet peculiarity in the air. Two attendants followed close behind me, some form of liquid dripping from their faces.
Dores: I suppose I must claim a little freedom for myself in this place. I thought the darkness was a blessing. It wasn't too difficult to shake them off.
Dores: I'm sorry for your undue trouble, my diligent friends.
Dores: I'm a writer, and I mostly write under the name "Urd." I'm here for a short visit, hoping to find some inspiration for my next story. I'm afraid I don't know of this Physician you mentioned.
Roberta: See, García? This lady is a writer! A good soul! You almost made us miss out on meeting a kindred spirit.
Roberta: Come, come! I'm sure you'll fall in love with our salon!
García: This … this has nothing to do with me. It's dark in here, but I suppose you've already grown used to walking in the dark. Sorry, I mean no offense.