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One autumn evening, a young woman knocked on Mira's door. She wore salt-stained boots and carried no bag. Her eyes were the color of honey in low light.

Mira touched her own cheek. She hadn't noticed. The tear that fell from her was silver, not gold, and when it struck the worktable, it didn't make a bead. luster stories latest

And from the fog outside, someone laughed. One autumn evening, a young woman knocked on Mira's door

The girl reached for it — then stopped. “You're crying too, old woman.” One autumn evening

The girl ran to the window. Mira stayed seated, but her hands — old, wrinkled, steady — began to shake.

Mira studied her. “That costs more than coin.”