The Man in the Mirror

Droplets of water trickled down his cheeks. Another splash of water on his face and a spray of water flew of his lips. He stood up to full length and stared into the figure. A fairly good-looking, six foot something bloke looked back into his eyes. They moved with his in tandem, like foxtrot, and neither blinked. They stared into each others hazel brown eyes and read through it, their thoughts, their minds.
The handsome bloke though was more successful. He could read through the minds of people by mere pupil dilations. And this man was a sitter. The calm facade could not fool him. He could see a tormented mind, with its walls of will being broken down by storm of the past. A fortress being threatened by the war, one that should have ended ages ago. And yet, the King sat there with his hands crossed, waiting in belief. A blind faith that the Gods above descend from the cerebral heavens and fight this losing war for him. Ignorance, fear and trepidation had taken over the King and made him a recluse. The armies of his mind had taken a beating but they never waned. They knew the secrets to victory but were powerless with a confounded emperor. The picture seemed so vivid that the bloke could see the flaws and its remedies. But then, what could he have said to make a difference?