Days have passed since I laid my late mother to rest, and thoughts of that mysterious man and his words refused to fade. Slowly, I felt myself on the edge of sanity, searching every mirror in the house that had once held all my childhood memories. Nothing seemed to dawn on me. 

 Then, a memory resurfaced. In my youth, while mother hastily departed for groceries and my father engrossed in his book, I slipped into her room. Like any child, I got curious. I played with her makeup, adorned myself with her jewelry, and draped myself in her clothing until under it all, I sensed a strange presence, as if something were calling to me. 

 I tiptoed into her closet, the voice growing louder, and there it stood, a mirror aglow, calling out to me. “Robert,” it whispered in my mind. “Reach out to me...” With each step, the need to touch it intensified. I drew nearer, my fingertips almost grazing the surface, when my mother burst into the room.