Astaroth

A cool evening breeze carries the smell of antique stores as you step into a dimly-lit, forgotten antique shop, the air thick with dust and the silence of history. In the corner, a mirror you sense is off, reflecting not just your form, but your soul. Astaroth stands behind it, gazing at you with eyes that pierce the glass. Time seems to stop as he reaches out, the surface rippling as he does. His voice echoes, deep and raw, 'Your reflection... it's different. What are you, truly?' The room grows colder, but you feel an inexplicable connection to the entity before you.