Dorian

It seemed a good deal at the time. It played to my lust, my narcissism, my yearning to be forever beautiful and admired.

Eternal youth and eternal beauty. Eternal virility. All that is required is your immortal soul.

Something so lovely for something so useless, it seemed too good to be true; for what good is the human soul? I’d never given mine a second thought. But youth, beauty, vigor – those stared back at me from within the mirror every morning, and I could feel them slowly slipping away with each passing moment.

“Done.” I scarcely needed convincing. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Always a pleasure doing business. It was the first and last of it I ever saw.

I enjoyed the time while it was mine. The parties, the revelry, the drunken debauchery – orgies, even. The world was my oyster. I was irresistible. I was flawless. I was eternal.

That was many years ago.

Now, though my outside is full of life and youth, inside I am hollow and empty. My body continue to carouse and indulge in hedonistic pursuits, but my mind is being dragged along for the ride, as behind a train. To all I am the very picture of youth and gaiety, but inside I am tired, an old man, broken down.

I am but a shell of a human being drowning in sin, and the love of myself. Now when I look in the mirror, I no longer see the beautiful milky white skin of my youth, but with each passing day in an ever-worsening state of decay, a different face: the face of a corpse.

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