The face in the reflection of the old broken mirror kept changing. He… she… it… transformed in more ways than one… older… younger… thinner… the person looking out of the mirror was most definitely not the person looking into it. Shattered and gaunt, no voice to scream, trapped in an absurd reality and no means of escape. The walls around no longer visible through the darkest of dark, and no realisation that through the darkness that reflection was there.
Another attempt to scream brought a slight sound. A whimper. A groan. A shriek.
The sound of the morning alarm brought the nightmare to an abrupt end. But, in the corner of the room, a reflection still peered out of the old broken mirror.
The Mansionic Perspective 
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