"Shame." Said on a sigh, the mirth adding more of an aroma than any actual, detectable flavor. Ben didn't really except anything else, but he's having to keep an open mind in a place like this. He did talk to a psychic here once, after all.

He has to scoff finally, under an uneven smile, head hanging down for a moment before swinging back up to look at the cowboy-hatted gentleman. "Ah, don't you worry, I have all varieties of doom in mind most days." Everything from omens, to calamity, to bad traffic. Ben treats all forms of doom equally.

Ben recalls the mirror falling to pieces like wet paper, in the middle of a conversation with someone — started the daylights out of him, too, and not only because that isn't how physics works. The ominous void left behind on the wall had been...unsettling. It felt far too malicious in the moment.

"Nothing about these mirrors are very typical," Ben agrees, tilting his head to look over the edging of his own. "And unlike the others, these ones let us communicate." And when their rooms allow nothing else — not so much as a crack in a wall — Ben has to question if it's almost too obvious of a detail, these mirrors.

Yet, this world doesn't necessarily feel intentionally subversive. Just...fluid.

"That must be significant." But what can they communicate to each other that's so important?