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A boy kneels by dark water, transfixed by his own reflection. His fingers barely break the surface, blurring the face staring back—youth and vanity frozen in that fragile moment before the ripples fade. The pool holds him captive, mirroring a fate already written in myth.
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A young woman gazes upward, her face illuminated against the dark. A palm branch rests in her hand—martyrdom’s quiet symbol. The blade’s shadow looms near her neck, yet her expression holds neither fear nor triumph, only a stillness that lingers between life and something beyond.