The Golden Mirror
The annual gala at St. Jude’s was less a celebration of charity and more a suffocating exercise in performative benevolence, a room thick with the scent of lilies and the metallic tang of old money, where the air seemed to hang heavy with the unspoken weight of our own mortality. I stood by the buffet table, holding a glass of champagne that had long since lost its fizz, watching the light...
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