I stood before that mirror, gazing into those strange eyes that gazed back, emotionless. Those small dark orbs that reflected a dark soul.

A soul that had been terribly abused by the woman I had loved. A love that had been vaporised in the fires of reality.

Now there was nothing but emptiness, not hatred, even pity had gone now. My reflection looked back confirming this.

That face was nothing I had seen before. Not quite me, but not quite human. My humanity suppressed by tragic events, buried deep like the corpse I had become.

The reflection shimmered then, seemed to fade into negativity before restoring itself at last. I shivered with cold, despite the noon heat.

Reflections of self are reflections of reality. Grounding our beings in everyday life. They change subtly over time, until that familiar image is familiar no more.

When even you and I stare back in horror and realise the awful truth. The reflection belongs to someone else.