I once had a mirror.
It was quite an odd mirror. Im not quite sure you could call it a mirror at all. I guess you could have called it a reflection, but never a mirror. For anything to be called a mirror, it would have to reflect your exact expressions, exact poses, and exact appearance.
Well, this one didnt meet those qualifications at all. All it seemed to do was mock me. All it gave me were contradictions. Whenever I smiled, my reflection scowled. Whenever I stood in front of it, stark naked, it would be buried in a mound of cloth. It was considerably odd, since the background never matched either. My room remained static, but the reflected room was almost always something different. On some days, it was decked out in red satin and luxurious Persian rugs. On other days, towering cabinets filled with books lined the walls. It did rarely, however, take on the appearance of my room; blank white, bed pushed into a corner, clothes strewn across the floor.