video;

[welcome]

[Cecil is in his room, shuddering, arms wrapped tightly around his body. Is it fear? Is it the cold?

His closet door is open, and there's a bedsheet draped over it -- covering the mirror.

Cecil's fingers press into his sides, pulling at the fabric of his shirt, nearly tearing it. He stares straight ahead, his bright eyes wide; unseeing.]

My mother always said that it would be a mirror.

Comments

[kneaded]

[ not entirely sure those are skills, bro. ]

It isn't just your mirror, if that's worth anything.