Harry Styles Mirror Picture Novels & Stories

“Heiress Dead in Tragic Accident.” The image doesn’t feel real. I look too polished, too posed—like a portrait they chose to immortalize a lie. I pull out another one. “Harry Smith Mourns the Death of His Heiress Wife.” There’s a photo of him, dressed in black, looking anguished, and his hands are pressed together in mock grief. In the corner, there is a smaller photo of me—smiling, looking… alive. “Not bad,” I murmur internally. “Looks very convincing.”

She observed her reference photo stuck to the mirror as she went through her hair. Her longtime client sent her a picture two years back, and she managed to replicate it. It was a photo of a brunette sitting in a cafe with almost identical clothing. The said outfit was hanging on the clothing rack behind her, along with the others. It was the most plain-looking among the pile—a low-cut one-piece khaki jumpsuit with black strap-on stilettos.

She restrained herself and shook her head as if to clear it from her mind. Harry couldn't believe how sexy Tracy was acting. His prick was really doing a number on her psychologically. He could see it in her eyes. He looked at the mirror on the other side of the room and saw the reflection of this perfect white woman kneeling before an old black man holding and caressing his obscenely large cock. He was in heaven. Harry took off his shirt and was now laying naked on the bed. His cock seemed to have a life of its own and was bobbing and pulsing due to a combination of arousal and his increased heartrate.

I looked up every so often to see Harry glancing over at me; I knew he was looking at me so I may as well draw and just let him work. The darkness began to creep on me; I didn't know where I was. Looking around, I saw boxes and cobwebs; it looked like it was an attic. I began walking around and came across a mirror that was broken; I stood in front of it and closed my eyes...I felt something there. The hatch to the attic opened, and a girl with a flashlight came in; the girl looked around and then looked directly at me. She turned to leave but then she turned back, "Who are you?" I went to answer but then,

"Sorry for being rude, let me introduce myself first. I'm Harry, Harry Cairn." "I'm Neil Wesley." "Hello, Neil." "Uh, hi." Fortunately, I had a habit when flying of placing less essential items in the seat pocket before takeoff, so important things were not within reach. In front of me were now a mirror, a comb, sunglasses, and a mask. The position of the mirror happened to allow me to see that Harry fellow clearly. He was a man with skin almost as fair as Neil's, standing at around six feet, with a physique that could rival a model but fell short compared to mine. His face, a typical pretty boy look, heavily reliant on hairstyle and grooming, would be inadequate without them.

He ordered one of his minions to bring me a fairly large mirror so I could admire my own face for the last time, he said. Anyone who values my head for seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars apparently did not want to show himself at this time. The biggest possibility... is that he is someone I know. Humbert's minion brought a fairly large mirror. Humbert shifted his chair slightly so his minion could hold the mirror in front of my face. My pine green eyes looked a bit bruised, a little blood adorned my brown hair and forehead. But otherwise, I still looked okay. I tilted my head pretending to check my teeth, but I was only looking for the right angle to see the mysterious man from the mir