By IMERPUS RELUR
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He didn't scream.
He didn't even move.
As the mirror shattered in front of him, the reflection didn't disappear. Instead, it walked out—barefoot, bleeding, smiling.
"I am you... unfiltered," it whispered.
Imer watched, unmoved. The broken glass on the floor drew blood from his feet, yet he walked forward. No pain. Just silence.
He had become the kind of man who could walk through himself and still keep walking.
The mirror-being mirrored his gait. It was made of all the things he suppressed: rage, lust, sorrow, and something more ancient than words—hunger.
Not for food. For truth.
A truth that couldn't be coded, boxed, or tamed.
And in that reflection, Imer saw not a monster... but a beginning.