• "Ah..." The young blond teen smiled as he stepped out of the tub. He smelt of honey, and he couldn't resist sniffling at his own arms.
    "I am very beautiful~." He walked over to the mirror.
    Smiling, he placed a hand against the side.
    "Good morning, gorgeous. I am glad to see you again," He spoke, in a higher, flighty voice.
    "Ah, thank you, dear. I must look my best no matter what time of the day." He stroked through his hair slowly.
    "Well, I shouldn't keep you." And he turned away from the mirror.
    This was the everyday lifestyle of this rich young man.
    Lovely, white locks softly hugged the back of his neck as the bangs covered the blue, left eye.
    Daintily, the teen walked into his room- wide, regal, and princely. This was a man of wealth.
    This was also a man of stupidity.
    Being too distracted by his own reflection in the mirror hanging nicely on the wall, the man tripped over a pillow and fell straight to the floor.
    "Agh..." He sat up, rubbing his face. No damage, no scratches.
    "I'm good." He frowned, looking around.
    "Did the maid forget to pick that pillow up?" He huffed, forgetting completely that it was he who kicked the pillow to the floor about two hours ago.
    The man walked over to the beautiful closet, grabbing a blue vest, white collared shirt, and dark black pants.
    He dressed himself happily, then resumed speaking to himself within the mirror.
    As he turned around, planning to pick roses for his 'fangirls', the mirror spoke:
    "I'd love to come with you."
    The man flinched at the soothing voice. It sounded exactly like him, without the airiness.
    He turned around slowly, to see...
    Just his reflection.
    No one spoke, no one appeared. Just himself.
    "I am hearing things." and he walked out the room.
    "Wait, I want to come too! don't go!" the mirror suddenly whined like a child.

    --7:30 AM--
    "Good morning, Holt, dear," The old lady said as she waved from across the street.
    She was around 76, and she was very wealthy. Her son is the CEO of some company, Holt didn't know what.
    "Good morning!" Holt smiled and waved back to the woman.
    "I am picking roses, would you like one?" He put on his gentle face-- charming for older women.
    However, the old lady declined.
    "I must get going soon, so I don't have the time for flowers. Sorry dear." She went on her way.
    "Quite alright, they will always be here!" He smiled, then went back to picking roses.
    --8:50 AM--
    Holt sighed as he leaned against the green bench. He was exhausted.
    Picking roses isn't easy...now I know why we have a gardener...
    "Hey, you didn't let me go with you." A voice said. It was the same gentle tone from the mirror in his room.
    Holt, scared, looked around quickly.
    "Why won't you let me pick roses? Unfair!" The voice pouted.
    "Who are you?" The teen asked.
    The voice ignored his question at once.
    "You never do anything with me...come on, let's go play!"
    Then Holt noticed his cellphone.
    He glanced at the black screen, showing his reflection.
    "....." The voice went silent.
    Weird...
    Holt took a deep breath before standing up. If this was some kind of ghost, he'd need to hire a conjurer.
    He turned the phone on with shaking hands.