The "Me" that I see in the mirror is now wearing a wolf's face - freshly cut, blood dripping down his throat and staining our favourite pyjamas. Behind him I can make out barely-breathing bundles on the floor that break the painful silence with their whimpering and wet gasping.
When the last one falls silent, my mirror self begins to walk away and I, his reflection, walk as well. Our footsteps echoe in unison, though I can only catch glimpses of him in the myriad of reflective surfaces around the house.
He is leading us outside and away from our kills.
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