The banquet hall smelled of wet wool and old wine. It was a smell that stuck to the teeth. Captain Elias Thorne sat at the head of the long oak table. His uniform was crisp. The gold braid on his shoulders was new. He had bought it yesterday. He wore it like a shield.

Across from him sat Julian. Julian’s jacket was unbuttoned. The shirt beneath was white. It was stained with wine. It looked like blood. Elias stared at the stain. He did not blink.

"Look at you, Elias," Julian said. He smiled. It was a small smile. It did not reach his eyes. "You look like a doll. A stiff, cold doll."

Elias did not answer. He picked up his glass. The liquid inside was dark. It swirled when he moved it. He drank. The wine was sour. It burned on the way down.

"Did you like the gift?" Julian asked.

Elias looked at the box on the table. It was black. It was velvet. It was open. Inside lay a pair of gloves. They were white. They were silk. They were perfect. They were too perfect.

"I don't need gloves," Elias said. His voice was low. It was steady.

"Of course you do," Julian said. "For the cold. For the touch. You always say you can't feel your hands. I thought I could fix that."

Elias looked away. He looked at the window. The glass was thick. It was fogged. Outside, the night was black. There were no stars. There was only the dark.

"We are alone," Elias said.

"Are we?" Julian asked. He laughed. It was a dry sound. Like leaves cracking. "We are always alone, Elias. Even here. Even in the hall. We are alone in our own heads. Don't you agree?"

Elias gripped the table. The wood was cold. It was hard. He wanted to leave. He wanted to run. But he could not move. His legs were heavy. They were lead. He felt a tightness in his chest. It was a knot. It was tightening.

"Why did you invite me?" Elias asked.

"To see you," Julian said. "To see if you are still you. Or if you have changed. You have changed, haven't you? You are harder now. Colder. Like stone."

"I am a soldier," Elias said. "I must be hard."

"No," Julian said. He leaned forward. His eyes were bright. They were wet. "You are a friend. You are my friend. And friends do not become stone. Friends break. Friends bleed."

Elias looked at the gloves again. The white silk seemed to pulse. It looked like skin. It looked like flesh. He felt a sudden, sharp pain in his head. It was a throb. It was a warning.

"I trusted you," Elias said. The words came out slow. They were heavy. They were difficult to say.

"Did you?" Julian asked. He tilted his head. "Or did you just trust the idea of me? Did you trust the mirror? Did you trust the reflection you saw in me?"

Elias felt the knot in his chest tighten again. It was painful. It was sharp. He looked at Julian. He looked for a sign. He looked for a lie. But Julian’s face was calm. It was open. It was empty.

"I don't understand," Elias said.

"You will," Julian said. "You always understand eventually. But it hurts. It always hurts. You have to break to understand. You have to shatter. Is that not what you want? To be whole? You must be broken first."

Elias stood up. The chair scraped against the floor. It was a loud sound. It echoed in the room. The air felt thick. It felt heavy. He could not breathe.

"Where are you going?" Julian asked.

"Home," Elias said.

"To where?"

"To myself," Elias said.

Julian laughed again. It was a sad laugh. It was a final laugh. "There is no home, Elias. There is only here. There is only this table. There is only this wine. There is only us."

Elias walked to the door. The door was iron. It was cold. He touched it. The metal was slick. It was wet. He pushed it. It did not move. It was locked.

He pushed again. It did not move.

He pushed harder. His arms burned. His muscles screamed. The door did not move. It was solid. It was unyielding.

"Open," Elias said. His voice was a whisper. It was a plea.

It did not open.

He turned back to the table. Julian was still sitting there. He was drinking his wine. He was smiling. The smile was wide. It was too wide. It stretched the skin of his face.

"Why won't it open?" Elias asked.

"Because you are not ready," Julian said.

"I am ready. I am done. I am leaving."

"You are not leaving," Julian said. "You are staying. You are always staying. You are trapped in your own skin. You are trapped in your own mind. You built this room, Elias. You built these walls. You locked the door. And you gave me the key. But you are afraid to use it. You are afraid to let me go. You are afraid to let yourself go."

Elias looked at the gloves. The white silk. The perfect shape. He realized what they were. They were not gifts. They were shrouds. They were for the dead. They were for the part of him that had died. The part of him that trusted. The part of him that loved.

He looked at Julian. He saw the truth. It was terrible. It was clear. Julian was not a person. Julian was a memory. Julian was a reflection. Julian was the part of Elias that had betrayed him. The part of him that had chosen duty over love. The part of him that had cut him off. The part of him that had become cold.

Elias felt the knot in his chest burst. It was a sharp pain. It was a release. He fell to his knees. The floor was hard. It was cold. He cried. He did not know why. He cried because he was free. He cried because he was alone. He cried because he was whole.

Julian stood up. He walked to Elias. He knelt down. He touched Elias’s face. His hand was cold. It was like ice.

"It is over," Julian said.

"No," Elias said. "It has just begun."

Julian smiled. He reached for the gloves. He picked them up. He held them out to Elias.

"Wear them," Julian said.

Elias looked at the gloves. He looked at Julian. He reached out. His hand was shaking. It was weak. It was human.

He took the gloves. He put them on his hands. The silk was smooth. It was soft. It fit perfectly. It felt like skin. It felt like life.

He looked at his hands. They were white. They were clean. They were empty.

He looked at Julian. Julian was fading. He was becoming transparent. He was becoming light.

"Thank you," Elias said.

"Goodbye," Julian said.

Julian vanished. The room was empty. The table was empty. The wine was gone. The smell of wet wool was gone.

Elias stood up. He looked at the door. It was still there. It was iron. It was cold.

He walked to the door. He pushed it. It opened. It opened easily. It opened silently.

He walked out. The air outside was cold. It was fresh. It was real. He walked into the night. He walked into the dark. He walked into the unknown.

He did not look back. He did not need to look back. He was alone. He was free. He was alive.

He walked on. The road was long. It was winding. It was dark. But he could see. He could see his hands. They were white. They were clean. They were his own.

He walked. He walked. He walked.

The night was endless. The dark was deep. But he was not afraid. He was not alone. He was with himself. He was with his truth. He was with his life.

He walked into the dawn. The sun rose. The light was soft. It was golden. It touched his face. It warmed his skin. It warmed his heart.

He stopped. He looked at his hands. He took off the gloves. He held them in his left hand. They were white. They were silk. They were dead.

He looked at his right hand. It was bare. It was brown. It was dirty. It was real.

He put the gloves in his pocket. He walked on. He walked into the light. He walked into the world. He walked into the future.

He was Elias. He was alive. He was free.