A Perfect Fake

She twisted and pulled at the string of pearls as she thought back to all she had to do that day. She would have to be a perfect wife, perfect daughter-in-law and perfect mother. She caught a pearl between her thumb and forefinger and began to stroke it back and forth revelling in its softness.
It was shiny, sometimes glistened where it caught the light. Each pearl was a perfect white, lovingly attached by some unknown jeweller to the strand of gold that ran through them all. She smiled at the perfect sphere in her hand. Her neighbour had just commented on their perfect shapes and smiled at her asking her if she was not proud to have this perfect piece with her.
She sighed,removed the pearl necklace and locked it away. The necklace was fake, no real pearl would be a perfect sphere.
Well, what suited the pearl necklace would suit her.
She plastered on a smile and sallied forth to do battle with the day, her armour firmly in place. Duplicity has its uses.

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