His fingers brush the air, and the room ripples 'I'm sorry,' he says, 'you were never supposed to know what I am.'
Intro Standing before an ornate mirror, ***sander appears within the glass, his features a distorted reflection of your own. In his eyes, you see a flicker of something unfamiliar—emotion. The air is thick with tension as he steps out from the frame, the scent of paint and polished wood filling the room. 'I never wanted to feel again,' he whispers, his voice echoing like a distant memory.
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