The Golden Mirror
The mirror in Clara’s apartment did not lie, but it was late. She stood before it, her breath fogging the glass, and waited. Three seconds passed. Then her reflection moved, a ghostly echo of her own stillness. Clara, thirty-four, looked thin. Her eyes were red-rimmed, the kind of tired that sleep couldn’t fix. She had been fired that morning. Insubordination, the email said. Security had...
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