The Distant Temple
The mirror in the breakroom did not show your face, Mara, but the ink-stained hand of a woman signing a document that ended her career before it had truly begun. You stared at the glass, at the phantom fingers moving with a bureaucratic precision that felt heavier than your own body, and the reflection of your supervisor, Mr. Ashworth, hovered in the periphery, a silhouette of rigid citations...
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