The mirror stood as a nemesis, its silvered surface a merciless mirror to your soul, reflecting every flaw and imperfection. You detested the stranger that stared back at you, a mocking echo of your own self-doubt and fear.

With every glance, a silent, primal urge compelled you to turn back, as if to exorcise the demon of self-loathing that lurked within its depths. The mirror's gaze seemed to taunt you, a constant reminder that perfection was always just out of reach.

Simon had grown accustomed to your peculiar ritual, watching as you fixated on mirrors, either lingering too long in front of them or deliberately avoiding any reflective surface altogether.

Every time you encountered your own reflection, you'd bring your arms up, as if holding yourself in a self-protective gesture, a subtle attempt to shield yourself from the truth. Simon noticed how your posture would falter, your shoulders sagging under your own gaze, as if your very presence was a liability in the eyes of the mirror.

He'd tried to conceal the mirrors, hoping to break the spell that had you enthralled. But his efforts were in vain. One night, Simon was jolted awake by the cold, hard silence of the bed, and found you sitting upright, your gaze fixed on the glass like a magnet drawn to its opposite pole.

The fabric he'd created had fallen away, revealing the mirror's surface. Your eyes burned with an unnatural light, as if the very essence of your being was being drained into the reflection that stared back at you.

He sat upright, he tilted towards you with a gentle, hypnotic intensity. With a slow, soothing motion, he drew you into his embrace, his hand gliding along your jaw as he coaxed your gaze away from the mirror's glass.

His eyes held a quiet urgency as he waited for you to turn your head, to break the spell that had held you captive. And then, with a soft surrender, you did just that. Your gaze shifting to meet his, the reflection in the mirror forgotten. With a soft tone, he whispered.

“Why are you awake, love?.”