“This woman is an imposter!” the woman cried out, shoving the poster in my face. I stared at the image of myself, posed to attract clients, and then at the angry face behind the parchment. Pale face, dark hair, angry light-colored eyes.

We each took turns sitting under the bare light. The Interrogator leaned over us, asking questions I hadn’t even pondered the answers of for years.

“When was the last time you were in Vegasia?”

“When was the last time you saw your twin?”

“Are you really Rajah?”

“Who are you?”

I’ll tell you a story. I’ll keep it short.

On the hottest night of the Summer, in the middle of the desert next to an oasis of brackish water, two girls were born in a caravan wagon. Quick and slow. One always laughing, one always silent. One freed with muscle and one with a knife.

Leyla always did things a bit backwards.


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