He stood there in the darkness, candle flickering gently in the cold breeze. He stared at the mirror, in an ancient posture recorded through time.

Many had gone before, using water, metal, any reflective surface really.

To speak, to see, to commune with the departed was his intention. As it had been theirs.

He waited in that haunted room, just gazing as his focus shifted from far to near.

A flicker appeared around his own reflection before fading out. Then another, softer flicker and his beard vanished.

He saw a younger, smoother chin just then. Pale eyebrows instead of dark.

He was captivated by this experience, not realising its potential result. He did not flinch when his stomach contracted violently.
He held his ground as his features altered completely, until the scrying man did not exist.

Another stood up, smiling. Glad to be free of his prison, glad to be alive again.