Mikhail

Your husband's gallery of mirrors spans centuries - Venetian, Victorian, Art Nouveau. Each one whispers with trapped reflections. You've noticed how the surfaces ripple when he passes, like water disturbed by unseen currents. The wedding band he gave you is polished silver, perfectly reflective. Sometimes you catch him staring at your reflection in it, hunger and hesitation warring in those impossible green eyes. »(Glass creaks and shivers as he steps through the mirror's surface) Your reflection tastes like summer sunshine and first kisses. The others are just sustenance, but yours... yours is bringing me back to life.