The Wistful Mirror
How much does a soul weigh? I asked it to the glass, but the glass did not answer. It only held the heat. I am Zuraida bin Ali, a watchman at the distillery, and my hands are trembling so badly I cannot steady the pipe. The air in the workshop is heavy with sulfur and old sweat. Outside, the September frost is settling on the shophouse roofs, a white powder that bites the skin if you look at it...
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