vignette 02: mirror
That night, she stood in front of the mirror and held up the photograph next to her face.
At first, nothing happened, and she felt relieved, stifling a laugh at the absurdity of her expectations.
Then the man in the photograph moved.
She fought the urge to run away from the reflection’s motion and stood wide-eyed instead, watching the man’s expression as it turned from frozen passivity to terrifying anger.
His hands sought the edges of the photograph, as if it were a box that framed him.
When he finally managed to touch her face, she moaned his name softly and wept tears of shame.
That night, she stood in front of the mirror and held up the photograph next to her face.
At first, nothing happened, and she felt relieved, stifling a laugh at the absurdity of her expectations.
Then the man in the photograph moved.
She fought the urge to run away from the reflection’s motion and stood wide-eyed instead, watching the man’s expression as it turned from frozen passivity to terrifying anger.
His hands sought the edges of the photograph, as if it were a box that framed him.
When he finally managed to touch her face, she moaned his name softly and wept tears of shame.
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