I woke with the brass in my mouth.

It tasted of copper. Of old pennies. I spat it out. The floor was cold. I looked up. The mirror was there. It had always been there. But it was wrong.

The frame was gold. Heavy. Ornate. It looked like a cage made of light. Inside the glass, I was not alone. There was another woman. She looked like me. But she did not blink. She stood very still. Her hands were pressed flat against the inside of the glass.

I touched my own face. The woman in the mirror touched hers.

"Hello," I said.

She did not speak. She just smiled. It was a thin, sharp smile. It cut the air.

I laughed. It sounded hollow. Like a coin dropped down a well. I went to the sink. The water was cold. I washed the taste of metal from my tongue. I looked back. The woman was still there. She was looking at me with eyes that had no depth.

I am Eleanor Ashworth. I live in a house that breathes. The walls are thick. The floors creak. It is an old house. It remembers everything.

I went to the kitchen. The light was grey. The clock on the wall ticked. One. Two. Three. I made tea. I drank it. It was bitter. I did not like it. I drank it anyway.

I had to go to work. I put on my coat. It was blue. I put on my hat. I put on my gloves. I looked in the hallway mirror. The woman was there. She waved. I waved back.

I felt foolish. I am thirty years old. I am not a child. But I felt foolish.

I left the house. The street was wet. The fog was thick. I walked to the factory. The factory is big. It is loud. It smells of oil and sweat. I work on the assembly line. I put buttons on coats. I press the needle. I pull the thread. I cut the excess.

I do this all day. I do it every day.

At lunch, I sat on a bench. The sun was out. It was weak. I ate my sandwich. It was dry. I watched the other women. They talked. They laughed. They complained about their husbands. They complained about their children. They complained about the pay.

I did not speak. I looked at my hands. They were red. The cold had bitten them. I looked at the sky. It was white.

A man walked by. He was tall. He wore a grey suit. He looked at me. He did not smile. He kept walking. I felt a chill. I did not know why. I knew him. I did not know his name. But I knew his eyes.

I went back to work. The machine hummed. The needle went up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

I looked at the woman in the mirror again. I had brought a small hand mirror. I used it to check my hair. She was there. She was watching me. She tilted her head. I tilted mine.

"You are bored," she said.

I froze. The needle stopped. The sound of the factory faded. I looked around. No one was listening.

"Who are you?" I whispered.

"I am you," she said. "I am the part of you that does not sleep."

I dropped the mirror. It shattered on the floor. Glass flew up. It cut my hand. A thin line of red appeared. I did not cry out. I picked up the pieces. I put them in my pocket.

The woman was gone.

I went home. The house was dark. I turned on the lights. The shadows stretched. I went to the bedroom. I sat on the bed. I took out the glass. I held it in my hand. It was sharp. It was cold.

I looked at the full-length mirror. The woman was there. She was bigger now. She filled the glass. She was wearing a dress. A red dress. It was beautiful. It was wrong.

"Come out," she said.

"I can't," I said.

"You must."

"Why?"

"Because you are tired. Because you are trapped. Because you are lying."

I stood up. I walked to the mirror. I put my hand on the glass. It was warm.

"What is the lie?" I asked.

"You think you are free," she said. "You think you have a choice. You do not."

I pulled my hand away. My hand was burning. I looked at it. The skin was black. It was dead.

I screamed. I could not make a sound. The scream stayed inside me. It echoed. It bounced off the walls.

I ran to the door. I opened it. I ran out. I ran into the street. The fog was thicker. I could not see. I ran blindly. I hit a wall. I fell. I got up. I ran again.

I ran to the factory. It was closed. The lights were off. I broke a window. I went inside. It was dark. I felt my way. I found my station. I sat down. I started to work.

I picked up the needle. I did not have a coat. I had nothing. I sewed the air. I pulled the thread. I cut the excess.

The machine started. It hummed. I did not touch it. It ran by itself.

I looked at the mirror. The woman was there. She was sewing too. She was sewing a coat. It was my coat. The blue one.

She held it up. She smiled.

"This is yours," she said. "This is your freedom."

I looked at the coat. It was perfect. It was beautiful. It was a coffin.

I took it from her. I put it on. It fit. It was tight. It was heavy.

I felt light. I felt free.

I walked out of the factory. The fog was gone. The sun was shining. It was bright. It was blinding.

I walked home. The house was waiting. I went in. I locked the door. I went to the bedroom. I looked in the mirror.

The woman was gone.

Only I was there.

I smiled. I felt happy. I felt light.

I went to the kitchen. I made tea. I drank it. It was sweet.

I sat at the table. I waited.

Nothing happened.

The clock ticked. One. Two. Three.

I looked at my hands. They were clean. They were soft. They were mine.

I looked at the mirror. I waved. No one waved back.

I felt a pang of sadness. It was small. It was quiet. I ignored it.

I went to sleep.

I dreamed of brass. I dreamed of gold. I dreamed of a cage.

I woke up. The sun was rising. The light was pale.

I got up. I went to the mirror. I looked at myself.

I was not alone.

The woman was there. She was wearing the blue coat. She was looking at me with pity.

"You did it," she said. "You chose the cage."

I opened my mouth. I wanted to argue. I wanted to shout. But I had no voice.

I looked at the coat. It was on the chair. It was blue. It was heavy.

I put it on.

It fit.

It was tight.

It was heavy.

I walked out the door. I went to the factory. I sat at my station. I picked up the needle.

I started to work.

The machine hummed.

I worked.

I worked.

I worked.

I did not stop.

I did not stop.

I did not stop.

I am Eleanor Ashworth. I live in a house that breathes. The walls are thick. The floors creak. It is an old house. It remembers everything.

I am free.

I am free.

I am free.

The needle goes up and down.

Up and down.

Up and down.

I look in the mirror.

She is not there.

I am alone.

I am alone.

I am alone.

The brass is in my mouth.

I taste it.

It is sweet.

It is gold.

I smile.

I keep sewing.

The thread is red.

It is long.

It is endless.

I pull it.

I cut it.

I keep going.

The machine hums.

I am here.

I am here.

I am here.

The light fades.

The dark comes.

I do not stop.

I do not stop.

I do not stop.

I am the machine.

I am the thread.

I am the needle.

I am the cage.

I am the gold.

I am the oath.

I am the end.

I am the beginning.

I am here.

I am here.

I am here.