In the mirror of a lavish closet, I see a blonde boy dressed up in a set of luxurious worsted suits. I size him up from his expensive brown leather shoes, up to his perfectly tailored worsted suits in black, and finally to his neatly brushed hair.
Sadly, no matter how hard he tries to force a decent smile on his face, the fatigueness and melancholy behind his countenance cannot be concealed. As those red puffy eyes remind him of what sent him here, tears fill his eyes and block his tear ducts.
Before he loses control over his emotion, I see Vesta enter the mirror with a benign smile. From behind she lays her hands over the blonde boy's shoulders, "Black does look good on you. It makes your beautiful purple eyes stand out."
