I watched from the bathroom mirror. But I wasn't, at least mentally, in the bathroom anymore, and so the mirror was not the bathroom mirror. It was an illusion, though a veritable one. My assumption seemed correct, it was my mind; a vivid representation.

            As I grew angry, the wallpaper faded and the paint turned red.

            And I just kept looking out the mirror. Despite it's shape, it wasn't quite like looking at a flat surface. It had a duality to it, as if I was seeing through the mirror into my pair of eyes. Eyes that no longer belonged to me, for the winged one was in control.

            She was like some vile archetype that had crept its way into conscious thought in a twisted hallucination that took control away from me.

            For a moment, I furiously back-tracked my thoughts and determined that I had not been drugged. Surely, this couldn't be some oddly sensical trip of hallucinogenic indulgence. I wasn't into that stuff, and I was sure this was more than seeing things. I'd seen her before, but never like this.

            She laughed at my thoughts. But I could hear hers too. She perused through my fantasies, my vices and my ambitions. It made a chill run down my spine and I gripped the chair firmly with one hand.

            "You can't do this!" I yelled, and the vanity mirror, my mind's eye, cracked at the edges.

            "You can do this, and you are doing this!" she retorted, audible yet unseen. "I am you." And as she spoke, the cracks receded and vanished.

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