The Wistful Mirror

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2026-08-23 11:31:32 -

The mop handle is slick with chemical residue, the plastic cold against your palm. You push it in long, wet arcs across the linoleum, the smell of bleach sharp enough to sting the eyes. The clinic is white. Everything is white. The walls, the floors, the ceiling tiles that hum with a low-frequency buzz that you feel in your teeth. You are Elias. You are forty-two. You used to draw buildings...

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