This ignorant schweinhund says I have eisoptrophobia. A fear of my own reflection. I’m not a handsome man, but he’ll not understand until he sees it. He’s suggested exposure therapy to desensitise me and smugly holds the cloth covering the mirror.
He stands behind me and tugs, revealing our reflections, and something twisted, horrible. Der Spiegelgeist—mirror ghost—the reflection that has been severed from a newly formed vampire, existing, destroying, only inside the mirror.
I’m relieved when it attacks the therapist’s reflection first. His real-world counterpart’s torn open, spraying me with warm blood.
I close my eyes and wait.
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