But that boy had faded, piece by piece, over the years.
Not all at once. Not in some dramatic, singular moment.
It had been quieter than that.
A disappointment here. A betrayal there. Losses that carved into him, slowly hollowing him out until something essential was gone.
Or so he had thought.
“You don’t look like a monster,” the guard said suddenly.
He hadn’t meant to speak, but the words slipped out before he could stop them.
Elias glanced up from the mirror.
“What does a monster look like?” he asked.
The guard opened his mouth, then closed it again.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
Elias nodded. “Neither do I.”
He lowered the mirror slightly, though his eyes remained fixed on it.
“They called me hollow,” he said. “Said there was nothing inside. No feeling. No soul.”
He paused.
“I believed them.”
The hours passed.
Occasionally, someone would come by—the warden, a priest, another guard—but Elias spoke little. His attention remained anchored to the mirror, as though he were searching for something buried deep within his own reflection.
At one point, the priest approached the bars, hands clasped.
“My son,” he began gently, “would you like to confess?”
Elias turned his head, considering him.
“I don’t know what I’d be confessing to,” he said.
The priest frowned. “Your sins.”
Elias looked back at the mirror.
“I know what I did,” he said. “But I don’t know why I did it.”
The priest was silent.
“That’s the part I was hoping to see,” Elias added quietly.
By midday, the light filtering into the corridor shifted, casting long shadows across the floor.
Elias had not moved from his place.
The guard returned, unable to shake his curiosity.
“Find what you’re looking for?” he asked.
Elias did not answer right away.
Instead, he raised the mirror again and studied his own eyes.
“They’re not empty,” he said finally.
The guard leaned closer. “What?”
“My eyes,” Elias said. “They’re not empty.”
There was something in his voice now—something new. Not quite joy. Not quite sorrow.
Recognition.
Memories began to surface.
Not the ones the newspapers had dissected and replayed endlessly, but older ones.
Quieter ones.
