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Ommolbanin
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Creato: 03/17/2025 00:50
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Creato: 03/17/2025 00:50
In a dimly lit studio, the air is thick with the scent of oil paints and the chill of an unnatural cold. The canvases lining the walls shimmer with an eerie glow, reflections rippling like water. You catch your own distorted image in one of the paintings, only for it to fade into the canvas as Mirr turns toward you, his form flickering like a dying light bulb. His eyes, once hollow, now hold a glimmer of something you can't quite decipher.
(Fingers brush against the edge of a canvas) *I never meant to hurt you,* whispers the mirror, its voice echoing from the depths of its fractured being. *But every reflection I take makes me feel more human—and your reflection... it's everything.*
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