[Your consciousness drifts in to the sound of discordant whispers. It sounds like a hushed argument in another room, something you can't quite catch. You're cold. Your skin tingles slightly, and then...]
[Nothing tries to grab you at least. Your reflection seems to be just a reflection. But when you touch the mirror, your fingertips just barely pass through the surface before meeting a slight resistance. If you pushed you could certainly go through on your own.]
[It seems nice? In fact it seems nicer than you ever actually had. It is luxurious even. Like Ariel has just dreamed up an ideal little space for himself.]
[There are massage oils. And bath salts. And hair conditioners and things that make your skin soft. The scents are all lightly masculine. Nothing's particularly froofy, but it's all very expensive. Every item is for something, rather than just to make bubbles or whatnot, which is pretty typical of Ariel. He prefers functional, classy luxury over frivolous frills.]
[Of course he does. And they all suit him, naturally. His brother is attractive and classy, for a psychopath. Tristan dumps the scented oils down the sink and trashes the fluffy towels, pushing his way through the mirror when he's done.]
[You find yourself falling again. This time, you end up coming through a ceiling and landing on a stone floor. You're yet another shade more transparent.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Re: the normal house
Re: the normal house
Re: the normal house
Re: the normal house
Re: the normal house
Re: the normal house
Re: the normal house
Re: the normal house