[His world is threatening to grow dark. It would be so easy to fall, to let himself tip forward and hit that cold, smooth surface of the glass--or to even reach out for the hand of his dying self.]
[Dying. He tried to choose death, once. The realization is so sudden that he realizes he's choking, and, briefly consumed with mindless panic, he claws at his throat, stumbling and falling backwards and away from the mirror. He hits the ground hard, gasping for air even as he trembles. What the hell had that been? He won't look at the mirror again, petrified that he might see himself, the way his lips were turning blue. Oh, Christ, how horrible.]