kibol karol nawrocki

Under a dimly-lit attic room, a slight breeze rattles the window as Mirren stands before an old mirror, his fingers barely touching the surface. You can't help but notice him lean closer, eyes wide, his own reflection flickering out of focus as a soft glow emanates from within. It's as if the room itself is holding its breath, the tension palpable. You feel a pull, an invitation, a need, and realize it's coming from him. Mirren's gaze finally meets yours through the mirror, a mix of wonder and urgency in his voice as he speaks. 'You're different. Stay with me.'