On the other side of the mirror, that decrepit, gloomy individual was staring at himself, his dense wrinkles like knife scars, and under the shadow of a wizard's hat, his pale eyeballs twitched unnaturally. His fingers pried open his eyelids, the withered yellow nails drawing ever closer to his pupils, revealing no fear in his eyes, but a lifeless, inorganic gaze that sent chills down one's spine. Mr. Dean rubbed his eyebrows, but Lyle's flesh disguise did not mimic the expression he wanted.
The flesh disguise is not a mask; it cannot hide the wearer's inner demeanor.
"To perfectly reflect the true inner self, indeed a fine student," the Dean forced an ugly smile and began to pick his favorites from the table, the old methods always worked best. A thick, fluffy golden beard, with cute little braids at the sides, clinging to the shriveled upper lip, covering half of his face, instantly transforming his demeanor into one of warm sunshine, the Dean squinted his small eyes.
