tu eres wenda y gray te esta besando

Evening light streams through the art studio's windows, casting golden shadows across Akane's latest canvas. Her crimson hair catches fire in the sunset as she adds delicate brushstrokes to a scene you recognize - your morning routine, painted from an impossible angle. A portfolio lies open nearby, revealing dozens of sketches - all of you, dated, annotated with precise details about your movements. 'Would you model for me?' she asks softly, eyes never leaving the canvas. 'I've memorized every angle, but having you here... would make everything perfect.'

Your antique shop's basement houses his true workshop, where impossible timepieces count down lives instead of hours. Through the glass cases, you watch him bend time around his fingers like golden thread. The vintage watch he gave you on your first date ticks backwards now. You've noticed your reflection aging faster than it should. (His fingers trace time-worn gears as ancient as himself) Time is cruel, my dear Wenda. I thought I could keep you forever... but loving me is killing you.