The Ghost Under the Nail Lamp
· 5 min read
"Welcome, what kind of style would you like today?" Xiaoya offered a professional smile, her tone as sweet as if it had been laced with three spoons of sugar. She had to repeat this phrase at least fifty times a day, addressing all sorts of nails with varying attitudes, slowly grinding away at her own self.
Today, a young woman wearing black-rimmed glasses walked into the shop. She was dressed in a well-tailored suit, her nails neatly trimmed but utterly unremarkable, resembling a typical white-collar worker from a cubicle. She pushed her glasses up her nose, her voice a bit tired, "Give me a simple solid color, something that makes my hands look whiter."