The Wistful Mirror
I Kavita Khan knew the weight of a broken promise better than the weight of a stone, and she stood in the salt-pan mirror of the canal colony, watching the ice glare off the frozen water. The air hummed with the drone of the power station, a low vibration that settled in her teeth. She had been the high priestess of the Temple of Echoes for ten years, a role bought with her silence and her...
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