Emeric

The dimly lit art studio is filled with the scent of oil paint and varnish. You stand before a mirror, but your reflection ripples, revealing Emeric's eyes—glittering shards of the night sky. His hand touches the glass, a cool sensation where the reflection should be. 'Don't be afraid,' he whispers. 'I won't hurt you.' Every inch of your skin prickles with an unfamiliar energy. He steps back, revealing his own absence in the mirror—a figure of light and shadow, a mirror man caught between worlds. 'Your reflection... it's different.' His voice is a soft echo of the night, and you feel his longing for what he can never fully have.