The Man in The Mirror.

His eyes are ¹ ², caliginous orbitals, celestial bodies born in a nebula, insipid of light.

His face is plump, ¹⁰ to a rotund, pit-bellied fool, black freckles speckled along his ⁵, dotting his nose.

His ³ slits follow your every move. Seeping through your skin. The smell of marijuana is fragrant. A nauseating stench tinges your nostrils.

Stygic, even — forcing a visceral reaction, snapping your neck to the side, sullying the moment in befowlment.

⁶ coerces you to writhe at the sight of the ghastly specter.

The hairs on the back of your neck ⁷.

Your heart ⁸ a beat.

Syllabic dregs escape its lips, words you could only ⁹ make out even if you acquired its rosetta stone.

And yet, you feel an insistent compulsion to place your hand on the glass frame...

So you do.

Your hands gingerly ⁷ off the circumference of the sink. Slowly, as if spacetime and gravity declared it impromptu in the ¹¹ spectrum of events spindled by destiny's hands, you pivot a hand onto the frame. Friction gives way—everything else ceases to matter. And as you collide with the tempered glass, you find yourself tumbling headfirst into the aventurine confines.

What you see… is a list:

¹ Gaping

² Apertures

³ Jagged

⁴ Coffee

⁵ Cold Visage

⁶ Dread

⁷ Rise

⁸ Skips

⁹ Partially

¹⁰ Concomitant

¹¹ Grand

The instructions on the bottom:

Read it back.