He had a bizarre rapport with this mirror and spent a lot of time gazing into the glass to see who was there. Sometimes it looked like him. At other times, he could see someone similar but different in the reflection. A few times, he caught the switch in mid-stare, his expression re-forming like melting rubber, the creases and features of his face softening or hardening until the mutation was complete. He felt his inner core change at the same time. He would feel more confident or less confident; mature or childlike; freezing cold or sticky hot. He slipped into the depths of the looking glass and couldn't be sure if it was him standing there or an impostor, a lookalike.
He felt fully awake most of the time, but sometimes, while he was awake, it felt as if he were dreaming. In this dream state he didn't feel like himself, the real him. He felt numb. His fingers prickled. His eyes in the mirror's reflection were glazed like the eyes of a mannequin in a shop window, his colour, his shape, but without light or focus. His weeping fits would pass and he would drag myself back to the mirror expecting to see a child version of himself. Who are you? He'd ask. He could hear the words; it sounded like him but it wasn't. He'd watch his lips moving and say it again, who are you?
