Naturally, Boris preferred to have a reflection, since it made him less likely to be outed as an unholy creature of the night, especially in the mirrored ballrooms of Bucharest. So he had contrived to use his not-inconsiderable powers as a sorcerer to cast a spell to give him a false reflection with which to fool and bamboozle mortals until it was too late, and his fangs were already sunk deep into their flesh and draining their lifeblood.

Unfortunately, the spell was a bit of a kludge. Boris knew a spell for creating illusions, another for making them move, and a third for enchanting mirrors for the purposes of scrying, so he had simply combined all three in an attempt to create a convincing, fake, reflection.

“Heyyy, Boris! Looking a litly doughy there, my man. You just suck too much, you know?”

The spell created a fake reflection all right…and one that dispensed a never-ending torrent of insults, false prophecies, outright lies, and bad jokes.

Worst of all, Boris had cast another spell he knew—permanency—over the whole thing before realizing his mistake. Needless to say, remedying the error was top on his to-do list…assuming he could think over the inane chattering of his doppelganger.

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