Hall of Mirrors (or A Mansplainer’s Just Desserts)

“Well actually…” 

Breathy whistles of calliope music swallowed his words. 

“Come,” a silken voice commanded from the darkness. Swirling, slithering white-gloved hands led him forward. An impuissant marionette, he followed.

Behind him, a closing door’s click ushered a silence so complete his ears ached.

Released, he clawed at slippery surfaces searching for an exit, mocked by grotesque reflections of himself. 


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