thinking about being a vampire and not really having any real idea of what you look like due to the mirror thing. but, they don’t make mirrors with silver anymore, so one day one of your servants upgrades the one in your washroom as a surprise, and you see… you.
this person you’ve only ever seen in smudgy oil paintings, unmoving renders that capture only a fraction of their essence, someone you almost couldn’t conceptualize as real, and they’re… right there. you’re right there. every aspect of your face clear and sharp as crystal, slicing into the vacancy you’re used to seeing inside your clothes—you’re standing still but every little motion in your body, every breath, every rising of the chest is captured with a frankly eerie smoothness, reflected back at you the exact moment they happen. an incomprehensibly flawless view of who—what—you are.
you’re beautiful.