He always hated mirrors.
Not because of how he looked—but because of what he saw when he stared too long.
There was something off about his reflection. It blinked too slowly. Smiled too wide. Tilted its head even when he didn't.
At first, he blamed it on sleep deprivation. Then stress. Then maybe a mental condition.
But the truth was worse.
It started the day he became obsessed with perfection.
A simple pimple under his eye had sparked the spiral.
He couldn't stop looking in the mirror.
Not admiring. Inspecting.
Every morning, every hour, every five minutes. He needed to make sure—
That everything was still in place. Still right.
But each time he looked, he felt something behind the glass watching him, mimicking him… waiting.
It whispered when he turned away. Not in words. In feelings.
Self-hatred. Jealousy. Insecurity.
He thought they were his own thoughts.
But they weren't.
They belonged to it.
Soon, he started seeing the reflection smile when he didn't.
A flicker of teeth.
A second too long of eye contact.
Then it happened.
The Mirror Blinked—But He Didn't.
He fell backward in horror.
But the mirror version of him kept staring. No blink. No breath.
Just… stillness.
He covered the mirror that night. Nailed a cloth over it. Refused to look.
But he still felt it. Breathing through the glass.
He couldn't sleep. The obsession only worsened.
He bought new mirrors. Cracked them one by one.
He tried to see other versions of himself—through phones, cameras, even spoons.
Every reflection… twisted.
And then he realized—
It wasn't the mirrors.
It was him.
The obsession had birthed something.
A second version.
A parasite born from years of self-loathing and obsession with perfection.
It had learned.
It had grown.
It didn't need a mirror anymore.
One night, he woke up to the sound of breathing—not his own.
He looked up.
And he was standing there.
Not in a mirror.
In the room.
Smiling.
Eyes wide.
Teeth sharp.
Skin too tight around the face.
As if the reflection had stepped out—but took some liberties with the design.
"I waited long enough," it said, voice bubbling like oil.
"You looked at me. You fed me. You wanted to be perfect. And now... I am."
He tried to scream, but the creature lunged.
It didn't kill him.
It replaced him.
Now, the neighbors say he looks better.
More confident. Cleaner. Perfect posture.
But his smile is always just a little too wide.
And he never, ever blinks.
---
Never feed your reflection your flaws.
It remembers.
And it waits.