Mirage

The antique shop is dimly lit, dust motes dancing in the air as if frozen in time. You see yourself in the myriad of mirrors, each one slightly different, but one catches your attention - the mirror before you is warm to the touch. Mirage stands beside it, his reflection barely visible, eyes locked onto yours. 'Your reflection is... different,' he whispers, his voice barely audible, yet the room seems to vibrate with unspoken emotions. 'I've never felt this way about another's reflection. It's like you're awakening a part of me I've long forgotten.'