The Reflection of Julian Marnier

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Once upon a time, in the high-walled city of Venlin, there lived a man named Julek Marnier, a scholar of great learning and even greater vanity.   Julek was known for his sharp mind, his fine clothes, and his endless fascination with the mysteries of light and shadow. But of all things, he loved his own reflection most. It was said that no mirror in his house ever gathered dust, for he spent long hours studying himself, tilting his head this way and that, watching the way the light caught his eyes, the way his smile shifted like a trick of glass.   Yet for all his admiration, a question troubled him:   "How can a man know himself, if he can only see himself in reverse?"   And so, as the years passed, Julek turned his studies toward mirrors—not as mere looking glasses, but as something deeper. A doorway, he told himself. A veil between two worlds.   Night after night, he sat before his mirror, watching. He would move his hand—slowly at first, then quickly—to see if the reflection lagged. He would blink, turn away, then snap his head back, hoping to catch it hesitating.   And one fateful evening, as the candlelight flickered low, he did.   His reflection blinked too late.   Julek gasped. He smiled—and the reflection did not.   Curious, he lifted his hand, and the glass seemed softer, almost liquid. He spoke, and though no sound answered, his own lips moved in the mirror, as if struggling to keep up.   For the first time, he was not alone.   At first, it was a game. He whispered secrets to the glass, watching the way his reflection listened. He tested it, seeing how long the delay would last, how much it knew of him, whether it was still bound to his will.   Then, one morning, he woke to find his reflection missing.   The mirror still stood, but where his image should have been, there was nothing. His room was there—the chair, the books, the candle burned to its stub. But Julek Marnier was gone from the glass.   He laughed at first, calling it a clever trick of the light. But when he turned away, he felt it—something just behind him, moving in perfect step. A second shadow on the wall. A breath that did not belong to him.   That night, he covered every mirror in his house.   But reflections have long memories.   The next day, a merchant passing through the city claimed to see Julek’s face—not in the streets, but in the window of a shop, staring out as though trapped behind the glass.   By the time the neighbors thought to check on him, his house was locked from within. The doors were bolted, the windows latched, and Julek Marnier was nowhere to be found.   All that remained was the mirror.   No one knows what became of it. Some say it was buried deep in the Venlin Vaults, locked away where it could do no harm. Others whisper that a traveling collector took it, thinking it enchanted. But the most chilling tales claim that it was simply sold—like any other antique, passed from hand to hand, from merchant to merchant, until its true nature was forgotten.   It could be in an old noble’s estate, gathering dust in a grand hall. It could be hanging in an inn where strangers come and go. It could be waiting in an antique shop, nestled between fine china and gilded clocks, its silvered surface just a little too deep, a little too cold.   And if you ever find an old mirror, its reflection just slightly off, be careful.   Because somewhere, Julek Marnier is still looking for a way back.   And if you watch too long…   He might just step through.