Dorian checked his hair one final time in the mirror, and gave himself a wink before leaving to start his evening out.
It was gruesome, what stared back at him every time he got ready, the large portrait looming behind him in the reflection; yet he never used the countless other mirrors in his home. He just could not deny himself the chance to see his very soul in all its disturbing glory.
He was always the type to pick at scabs after all, rather mindlessly as a boy, but now with sick delight. Well here was a way to pick to his hearts content and not have the unsightly things detracting from the elegance of his evening dress, or the smooth lines of his freshly buffed fingernails. Truly, there was something awesome in the contrast of putrefaction and an exquisitely tailored jacket, as long as it didn't put one off one's dinner.
"Zombie chic," he thought to himself, "that's what I'll call it."