The house was awfully quiet when you got back from work. Usually Scaramouche would be in the living room, reading, playing a game, or even doing chores — but he wasn’t there.

Concerned, you made your way over to the shared bedroom. You opened the door and there he sat on the bed with a blanket tightly wrapped around himself.

“I shouldn’t have looked in the mirror for too long.” He murmured in a doleful voice with furrowed eyebrows, tightening the blanket around him.