The Mirrored Room By Kevin J. W. Driscoll © 2025

Dr. Celeste Harrow had a rule: never trust a client who insists they’re “just here for the vibes.” It was usually code for “I’m hiding something, and I’d rather you admire my posture than ask questions.”

Her Tuesday 3:00 PM slot was reserved for precisely that kind of mystery: a man named Theo March, who dressed like a philosophy professor on sabbatical and spoke like a man auditioning for a TED Talk on emotional repression.

“I’m not broken,” Theo said, settling into the armchair with the grace of someone who had practiced it. “I’m just… narratively complicated.”

Celeste smiled. “That’s a lovely euphemism. Shall we unpack it?”

Theo glanced at the mirror behind her desk — a large, antique rectangle framed in brass. It reflected the room’s soft lighting, the bookshelves, the bonsai tree, and Theo himself, looking slightly more haunted than he intended.

“I don’t like that mirror,” he said.

“Most people don’t,” Celeste replied. “It’s not for vanity. It’s for symmetry. And occasionally, revelation.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Revelation sounds expensive.”

“It’s included in the hourly rate.”