Benedict's POV
The mirror never lied, though I sometimes wished it would. My reflection stared back with the brutal honesty I'd grown to despise and depend on in equal measure.
I lifted the tweezers and caught another wayward hair sprouting from my cheekbone. The sharp sting that followed felt almost satisfying. This daily ritual had become my religion over the past decade. Each plucked hair was a small victory in my ongoing war against time.
The silver threading through my temples had crept further since last month. People praised it as distinguished. Handsome for your age, they said. Those three little words always followed the compliment like a shadow. For your age. As though youth was the only valuable currency in this world.
The sentiment made my skin crawl.
