The mental wall through him off guard, and for a moment he was trapped in the blackness. He was about to pull out entirely, fearing that the exercise had failed and that he'd need to start much slower. What could they talk about? Gardening? However, as he was about to leave, the defense came down, and the image of Sonya became visible. He stood beside her as the mirror came into view. He frowned at it. Mirrors were quite literal views into the soul, but they were also a distorted image. Mirrors inverted reality and replaced it with expectation, self consciousness and pride. In the mirror, Jimmy stared back with his wry smirk, messy hair and his fucking ugly flannel.
Wonder if you'll fail her too Barrow, the mirror said to him. He didn't think Sonya noticed any of this. Perhaps the mirror showed them different images?
Luckily, the image changed into the portraits and he was able to regain his focus without much effort. He studied Sonya's face as well as the image. The woman was beautiful, severe, and at least in these paintings, angry.
"Tell me about the images," he asked, giving no more instruction than that. While an echo and faded, the hum of the metronome could still be heard, as both of them slumped in their chairs.