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The Consultant Cora clenches her teeth. Takes a deep breath. If she can only sit still, stretching her spine to the sky, she will not revert to the once unsettling split of herself, the top of her body floating, fruitless, her bottom half touching the ground, both halves casting a shadow barely substantial enough for the whole of her. She understands that an erect back can keep her intact because Chat, intact himself, keeps harping on about that, Chat, her faithful, insistent feline, nagging at his mistress from inside his mirror, where he’s now ensconced for his ninth, and final, life. Clouds like flying saucers hover above a cuticle moon as folks in the village walk past and look away, scornful of her solid obeisance to guidance dispensed by a meddlesome, hissing black moggy forever trapped in a looking glass. Cora's body absorbs their disdain, slumps as she starts to shift and divide again. Chat arches his back, hairs rising, badgers her to adjust and align. I must sit up straight, she echoes, at first a questioning quiver, now growly and firm. Mikki Aronoff Mikki Aronoff lives in New Mexico, where she writes tiny stories and advocates for animals. She has stories in Best Microfiction 2024 and in Best Small Fictions 2024.
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The Ekphrastic Review
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February 2026
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