The mirror wasn't being kind this morning.
Not that it ever went out of its way to flatter her, but today it had a particularly rude honesty to it, as if it were saying, "Really? This is the best you've got?"
Amara exhaled slowly, bracing her palms on the chipped bathroom sink.
It was only six. Six. In the morning. A time she usually associated with birds chirping way too loudly and her phone (the alarm) being thrown halfway across the room. But now… well, now she didn't have that kind of luxury.
And now she stood in front of the mirror, a toothbrush abandoned on the counter, staring at a version of herself she didn't quite recognize.
The outfit was… something.
Black skirt she found buried in the back of her drawer, the fabric slightly faded and just a tiny bit too big around the waist. White blouse she'd bought on sale because she thought someday she might need it, only that "someday" was supposed to be years from now, not today.
