Michael stood in front of the mirror, transfixed by his own dishevelled appearance. Work had been… difficult recently. He took in the appearance of his face, the white of his eyes sinking into black, the greying skin, the unkempt hair. He really did look like shit.
Michael continued to stand there, teetering on the heels of his feet. He felt light headed, like a thick fog had settled in his skull. The fog seemed to creep into his vision, but Michael was unfazed by it all. He'd been hitting the bottle rather heavily earlier in the evening, his drunken mind was probably just messing with him, conjuring images that weren't really there.
A light sound, almost like a hushed whisper, drew his attention back to the mirror. He startled at the piercing blue eyes staring back at him.
"D-Dahlia?" His voice sounded choked, the taste of bile rising to the back of his throat. He didn't know what the wretch wanted, but it couldn't possibly be anything good. The old woman grinned, her thin lips