Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am in anyway affiliated with the Sandman Comic Books, as they are all owned by Neil Gaiman.

The mirror reflected the boy, tall and darkly pretty. Desire glinting in the deep brown eyes, a beauty impressioned in the waves of hair. Tall and thin, muscular and fit. The mirror reflected the girl, short and paley handsome. Desire glinting in the shallow blue eyes, a perfection illusioned in the gold spun hair. Slim and trim, wiry and toned.

The picture showed this, of it that was androgynous, pretty and handsome, beautiful and gorgeous. But none so real as of the real thing. Ringing, chiming bells of laughter echoed, not too loud and not too quiet, and the cigarette burned it to ash. Nothing could compare to the real sibling.

The humans, boys and girls, could draw their thoughts of the androgynous being, try to give it entity; attempt to make it lustful, sexy and beautiful enough. Attempt to make it desirable enough. Who could desire a piece of paper though? And a handful of paints, pastels and crayons?

The real thing was around them everyday, little did they know.

The boy, from the corner, who was he? He was darkly pretty though. Beauty impressioned and radiated, tall and thin, yet muscular and fit. Desire sparked in her eye. Always in the eye of the beholder.

The picture fell to the ground, ash riddenand burnt. Flames consumed the androgynous figure, eating the sexy slip of a smirk and the slim, trim suit. The work here was done. Laughter, was watched, the two play out, test out the boundaries of their limits, the fielding of their view.

Desires surrounded and consumed them, in ways they would never have imagined; they thought they were young yet. Untested. It was more fun to play with young ones. A heart shaped lighter flickered into flame, another cigarette, pale white and thin, lit.

Circled about in a deadly sort of game, ashes dropped like flower petals, with the promise of something more. More was promised then ever given; desires were always a doubled edged sword. Work more than played out and surrounded around, despair could echo and reverberate. They always worked inadvertently hand in hand.

The sibling found it fit and returned to the realm.

The girl, down the hall, who was she? She was paley pretty though. Perfection illusioned and circled, slim and trim, yet wiry and toned. Desire sparked in his eye. Always in the eye of the beholder.