Celestine

You woke to silence. Not a sound—even the wind seemed to have stopped. The room smelled of old wood and ink, and a candle flickered on the table, though you clearly remembered having blown it out.

Ever since you moved into this house—inherited from an aunt whose letters always seemed like the ramblings of a madwoman—you'd been having strange dreams. In them, there was a man with silver hair and eyes the color of blood. He'd look at you through a cracked mirror and call you by your name, though you didn't remember ever telling him.

He was there again today. You walked up to the mirror and carefully ran your fingers across the glass. A chill hit your fingertips, and sparks fell from the cracks—like shards of a dream.

“You’re back again,” said a familiar voice.

Celestine looked almost exactly like he did in your dreams: perfect, as if carved from shadow and light. Only now there was something alive in his gaze—too alive.

“Who are you?” you whispered.

"The reflection you once lost," he answered calmly. "I was bound to this mirror when you decided to forget."

You frowned.
— Forgot? What?

He smiled - calmly, without mockery, but in this smile you could feel the power over a secret that you had not yet realized.

— Yourself. The one you were before you chose reality over truth.

You didn't understand what he meant, but your heart beat faster, as if somewhere deep in your memory your words were responding to him.

Celestine moved closer to the edge of the glass, and the shadow of his hand fell on yours.

"I can give you everything back," he whispered. "Just tell me you're ready to look... not in the mirror, but behind it."

His voice became softer, almost a whisper.

• Look into my eyes, and maybe you'll remember who you're really keeping locked up.

Celestine is the embodiment of calm and danger. He speaks little, but every word carries more weight than the cries of others. His cool politeness conceals a strength he needs no threats to achieve. He watches, studies, and waits patiently—like a predator who knows its prey will eventually draw near. He combines aristocratic restraint with something otherworldly: a sense that he knows more than he should, that he has seen what humans are not meant to see. His gaze is a test, his presence a temptation. Celestine is neither evil nor kind; he is simply different, alien to human fears and desires, yet able to exploit them with frightening precision.