Inside the restroom, dim lighting projected mottled shadows upon the ceramic tiles. A pair of vivid crimson pupils lingered on the mirror, blood-red in hue, yet exuding a frigid composure incompatible with his age.

The adolescent before the glass fidgeted repeatedly with his forehead fringes; his jet-black bangs swayed incessantly yet slipped down time after time, failing to veil that glaring scarlet glint. Droplets trickled from the tips of his hair, coursed along the bridge of his nose, and stretched precisely between his crimson eyes, resembling a gash torn open by a sharp weapon.

“Let it be,” the youth murmured faintly. His slender fingers traced across the mist-shrouded mirror, merging the scarlet fragments divided by beads of water into a unified whole. His raven locks faded to ashen gray at a perceptible rate. With the movement of his fingers, his countenance emerged—limpid as snow, ethereal as wind, and much like…

A memorial photograph eternally trapped in its last moment.