With a look of shock turned from the awe of the house to Feyre he followed after, nearly stumbling at the sudden pull. "Feyre! Where are we going?" he asked as his footfalls were loud behind her, stamping up the steps where she dragged him to the room. At first he didn't even see the mirror and was still looking around--there was a lot to take in. Then he found their reflection in the mirror and for a moment he did not recognize who was standing beside her. He even looked over thinking a third person were with them.
That was when it sank in that it was his reflection.
Andras dropped Feyre's hand and stalked forward to the tall mirror where he reached out a hand and watched as his own mimicked back. The thoughts swarming his mind about this house, the house that Feyre had spent so much time telling him about, were gone. He touched his face. Fingertips drew under his eyes along the cheek bones he had mentioned. Then he did the same gently from the center of his forehead down around his temples. No mask. Nothing but clean flesh. He touched an eyebrow--he hadn't felt his brows in decades.
Then he turned around to face Feyre and grinned. "It's gone!" he looked the happiest she'd ever seen him.