[The laboring sigh was exactly that: a laboring sigh. The golden eyes lingered on the purple braid, his own reflection’s hair seeming fair whiter than before, before he begrudgingly turned. It was, he knew, for the best: whatever was in this mirror had to be a lie, a cruel falsehood. That was fine when he was the one making his memories to life, but it was utterly rude when it was someone else’s control.

Shoulders sagged even more than they usually did. At least he could give her points for sarcasm.]

And yet, what faults I do have – miniscule as they are – still pale than most of the others here. And yes, you are included.

[There was a small squint as he looked her over.]

And you are…?