The Wistful Mirror
The break room smells of burnt toast and old coffee. You stand by the microwave. The plate spins. It is a small, white circle of plastic. You watch it turn. Round and round. Your name is Elise. You are the senior archivist. You have been here for ten years. The air is stale. It tastes of dust. You are hungry. Not for food. For something else. You take the plate out. The eggs are dry. The bacon...
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