Sarah is sound asleep. She breathes softly, barely audible above the noise of the oscillating fan in the corner. The digital clock on her bedside table blinks 5:58am. The first glimmers of a gray dawn are showing outside her window. The room is ordinary enough. A small desk under the window is littered with writing paraphernalia; notebooks, scattered bits of paper, a multitude of pens, and a small compact laptop. A large dresser sits on the opposite wall, next to a closet that reveals an avalanche of clothing inside. Across from the closet sits the bed, loaded with cushy pillows and warm blankets. On the wall opposite the window stands a very large rectangular shape draped in cloth. It sits on the floor, leaning against the wall, nearly reaching the ceiling. Whereas the rest of the room gives an air of being thoroughly lived in by a fairly untidy person, the area around the draped shape is clear of debris. A wide berth of cleared carpet space surrounds the shape. It is incongruous with the rest of the room, this tall draped thing, devoid of any of the rubbish that seems to cover the rest of the room.

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The clock turns over to 6:00am and music begins to play. Sarah begins to stir and wake. She reaches over to turn off the alarm and sits up in bed. She rubs her eyes and tries to wake up. All the while she is careful not to look at the draped shape against the wall.

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She proceeds with her morning ritual of eating breakfast, getting ready for her day, preparing for work. She takes care never to look at the looming draped shape. It takes all of her concentration to just avoid looking at it. Though she assiduously avoids giving it any attention, her thoughts roam to it; it seems to call her, “Sarah… Sarah…” She does her best to ignore it, telling herself I won’t, I won’t.

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Finally, she is ready to leave, and grabs her coat and her bag and walks out the door. On the front step she exhales a large breath. I did it, she thinks to herself. She smiles as she walks to work.

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Throughout her day, she manages to focus on the tasks at hand, without much distraction from the draped shape in her bedroom. And yet, while she is able to largely ignore it, it is still there, lurking in the back of her mind, and she knows it is waiting for her to come home.

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When she gets home from work, she again pauses on the front step. Her hand on the door knob, she takes a deep breath and steels herself before opening the door and walking through. She goes through the motions of making and eating dinner, and eventually preparing for bed. She pretends all is well, and that the draped shape is not calling to her, that it holds nothing for her and is no more than an item of furniture in her apartment. But in her heart, she knows she cannot hold out much longer.

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After she gets her pajamas on, she sits on the edge of her bed, willing herself not to pull back the drape. She tells herself that its not important, that what the shape has for her is not real, not worth paying attention to. But as she stands to pull back the covers and get into bed, she turns around and with one swift motion pulls the drape off of the shape leaning against the wall.

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There before her, is a large, ornately beautiful mirror. The frame is elaborately carved and covered with gold foil. The mirror itself is large and imposing. The figure Sarah sees in the glass is the same as always, and it is ghastly.

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The mirror does not show Sarah her flowing chestnut brown hair, but rather curved black horns. It does not mimic her beautiful green eyes, but eyes piercing and glowing with fire. The face is skull like, with taught skin, and bony features. Her lovely smile is reflected as a sneering chasm. The image in the mirror seems to laugh at her, mocking her for returning once again. It sneers at her, convincing her that this is the truth of who she is, who she will ever be. Sarah collapses on the edge of the bed, with the drape balled up in her hands, and begins to cry.