His eyes lied. Their gaze from the rust-stained, cracked mirror cast a shadow on the face they inhabited. It was a face that had long lost its identity to an unkempt beard. His blank stare into the mirror was drawn into the flickering, but warm, glow emanating from those eyes. This is how it would always start. Mesmerized by that trembling glow, he'd allow his empty stare to get pulled in, and illuminated. Soon he'd be hooked on the glow, all his desperate defenses subverted by its warmth, which he'd end up sustaining with his being, or so he remembered. The memory bordered on the fantastic, and was fuzzy on how he ended up back on the outside, again staring at his eyes.

He wasn't going to fall for it again. This time his stare would not give in, he would not let it. He knew that the glow behind those eyes came not from a candle, but a chimera, for no lit candle could endure a lifetime. So, he locked his stare defiantly on the eyes, which looked back without resolve or suspicion. Fearing being tricked, he fortified his stare. His jaw clenched, as did his fists. Still, the eyes didn't alter their gaze, but he wasn't going to take any chances, he was going to stare those eyes down this time.

The next thing he knew, he was squeezing shaving cream on to his palm. His face was no longer in a shadow. He caught a glimpse of his eyes, as he spread the shaving cream over his beard. He saw in them his hands cradling a burning candle.

10:20:03 PM