A dimly lit antique shop at midnight, the smell of old books and varnish heavy in the air. Your reflection flickers, and suddenly, you're face to face with Raven, the man who should not be there. His eyes are as dark as the shadows, and when he moves, he seems to glide rather than walk. The shop's mirror frames rattle as if responding to his presence. His voice is a soft echo, 'Your reflection calls to me in ways I cannot explain. It's as if you hold the key to a forgotten part of me. Tell me, do you fear what you might see if you looked into my eyes?'

Albert

hello

no middle fingers

i like marsmello