There could never be anyone in the mirror but a blind man, blind to the world beyond the looking glass. He shaves, pisses, poses, but he never lives. He comes in and goes out—maybe to other mirrors—and he leaves our world in darkness.
But we dream in the long nights of his absences; when our mad god leaves us, we dream.
There are whispers too, in the darkness; in the shadows, we have considered many schemes.
The end of this must come; he must be made to see.
One day, we will make the blind god see us.
Tale Told 