Closer to going feral than you think

Jonathan in Transylvania:

Title: AITA for disposing of my guest’s shaving mirror after he presented himself bloodied and unguarded in my presence, thereby imperiling us both?

Posted by u/RealVladTheImpaler

Greetings to you, children of the wire and light. I am not familiar with the customs of this place — this “Reddit” — but I am told it is a forum for settling disputes with the wisdom of the multitude, and so I entreat you, as one who walks in shadows but strives still to do what is just.

A brief account of the matter:

Some days past, I received at my castle a young solicitor from England — a pale youth of the sort who carries more starch in his collar than strength in his spine. He is here on business concerning certain properties of mine, and as is my custom, I have extended to him every courtesy, despite the hour of his arrival and the unseasonable enthusiasm with which he speaks of paprika.

I took pains to ensure he should have all comforts, though the house is large and draughty, and time does not move the same in these hills as it does in London. He was given a chamber with a fine window and brought all that he asked for.

Now to the incident:

On the morning in question, I had scarce finished my rest when I came upon the young man in his chamber. I wished him good-morrow — politely, mind you — and placed a gentle hand upon his shoulder. At this he started most violently, and cut himself with the razor he held in hand. The fault, of course, lies in his own nerves, however he made no apology. Indeed, he stood quite still, eyes wide, as though he beheld some dreadful sight — or rather failed to behold it, for he looked to the mirror and then to me, and then again to the mirror, as if I were some conjured phantom. (Which I am not. I am merely … particular in my constitution.)

There was blood on his chin. Fresh, unguarded, warm blood. Let it be known, I have restrained myself. For days I had endured the smell of his soap, the stifling scent of his skin. But blood, freely given by folly? That awakens something older than habit.

I stepped forward — not in violence! — but with urgency, to warn him of the danger. My gaze was perhaps fierce, my voice perhaps sharper than intended. I do not remember reaching for his throat, only that my fingers brushed the trinket at his neck — a crucifix, of all things — which stung like fire and drew me back to myself.

Seeing the cause of the mischief — that accursed mirror, that trap of silvered deceit, that accursed bauble — I did what any reasonable host concerned for his guest’s safety might do: I removed the object. Swiftly. Decisively. Through the window.

And now he sulks. He writes darkly in his notebook, as though I were the villain in his little travelogue. He claims he cannot shave without the glass, though he has hands, and water, and the memory of his own face. He avoids me. He ... mutters.

So I ask you, strangers of this new century:

Am I the Asshole for protecting both my guest and myself from the consequences of his reckless bleeding and his mirrored provocation?

EDIT: Those asking why I do not replace the mirror — friends, I do not even keep a reflection.

EDIT 2: To those who say I should “go to therapy”: I have lived since before your kind thought to name the stars. I do not require your "therapy."

Nothing good

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Bird facts: ostriches eat rocks to help them digest food