He knew there was another.

He'd always known; always felt it.

And it was, it had always been, strange that not once --

-- not once --

-- was he permitted near a mirror.

When he mounted the Grey Throne's dais, he'd called for a great hall to be constructed.

A hall of pillars.

Mirrored pillars.

The night of its completion, he stepped silently through its gallery.

And the darkling figure that was himself reached from the glass.