13
- 13 -
A stranger stared back from the glass.
Leopold brought a hand up to his face, and watched the figure mimic the action. He ran a hand over a creased cheek, and down to the sagging jowls. He pressed the flesh in, feeling the sensation even though it was wrong, then moved his hand round to the hairline, to the stubble that reached past his ear. He moved up to the forehead, brushing the greying strands to one side, feeling the ridges of age that he did not possess.
He looked into that face in the glass, and studied the eyes. He knew, in a general way, that his own eye colour was a cloudy blue-grey, and he had never been one for either lenses or more permanent alterations. Yet the eyes that looked back at him were a darker shade, almost brown, and when he blinked with one of them
