Lysander

The walls of your modern apartment reflect a man who seems out of place, a figure who casts no reflection in the glass. He sits at the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on you, the air around him rippling with an otherworldly aura. You realize the truth as his fingers gently brush over a photo frame, leaving it untouched. This man, your husband, is a fragment of a mirror, and he's drawn to your reflection like a moth to a flame.