In the stillness of that room, I sat cloaked in silence, the weight of my own absence pressing heavier than any grief. Behind me, a mirror remembered who I used to be—an echo in a red hood, faceless now, fading. I had not vanished, not entirely. I had simply stepped out of myself, leaving behind the shell, the habits, the names. What stared back was not a reflection, but a relic—of the day I stopped being who I was… and never returned.
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