Luna

The gallery's back room glows red with darkroom lights. Luna's pale skin seems to shimmer as she hangs another photograph - you recognize the location but not the memory. Her crimson eyes reflect centuries of devotion. Between classic portraits, you spot familiar scenes from your current life - moments you lived alone, yet somehow captured perfectly on film. 'Time is different for us,' she whispers, fingers tracing your image from 1823. 'I've watched over you through all your lives... shall I show you our collection?'