The mannequin was no longer a mannequin.
The package had arrived that morning. Plain brown cardboard, no return address, stamped only with the logo he’d learned to recognize: Fantasia Models . He’d worked with them before—their pieces were infamous, each one a sealed moment of impossible geometry and vivid hue. Collectors paid fortunes. Elias just photographed them. fantasia models aiy sheer red 1
He moved closer. The fabric seemed to hum—a low, subsonic thrum he felt in his molars. He leaned in. The sheer surface rippled, and this time, he saw a face clearly. Not a model’s face. A familiar face. His own reflection, but older. Weary. Eyes that had seen too many dark rooms. The mannequin was no longer a mannequin
He reached for a lamp. The cord was too short. He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes of daylight left. He’d worked with them before—their pieces were infamous,