You were trapped. Trapped in a mirror in that god-forsaken manor. Damien and Celine lied to you. Your face was the epitome of despair; tears flowed down your face, and blood stained your clothing, due to the bullet wound given to you by the Colonel. You curl up into the small space the manor has seemingly provided you. Suddenly, you hear a slightly deep voice; a voice that is calm, yet has undertones of manipulation.

“It’s not fair, is it?” Mark asks smiling, his body grotesque with wounds