The Faded River
Chapter One The light in the workshop was the color of old bone, thin and sharp, cutting through the dust that hung in the air like a suspended debt. I stood at the vat, the indigo black as a bruise, and watched my left hand begin to dissolve into the steam, the skin turning translucent, the bones visible then invisible, then nothing at all. I am Waqar Hussain, and I have dyed cloth for...
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