The recently brightened mirror grows ghostly in the dark. The only light allowed within a single, glowing spark. The former face, it melts away. The eyes grow distant and far the shadows fly from the headlamps of a single passing car. In the murk the shadows dance.
Apparitions flit across the walls and in the pitchy looking glass dusk, again it falls.
Another person, it must have been, for only one is here. When the light changes we seek only to deceive, but the new face is not changed from the one we wish to leave. The dark contains all permanents, all that does not change The perfect place for those who flee, from what they consider strange. The shriek and chirp of insects float through the well-screened vent, for small inhuman ears the conversation was meant.