We were in Plato's Long Night, we chanted the paradox of Theseus's love, we walked into the glass swamp and stared at each other's distorted reflections.
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Reality is never as kind as movies - the wounds it gives have no filter, the ending is not worthy of subtitles, and even the tears fall more quietly than in the script.
Concept: In the triangular cage, every soul is eating its own reflection.