By day, Damian Desmond wore his polished image like armor. Each morning, he adjusted his tie, straightened his blazer, and looked in the mirror, seeing the reflection of someone who had to be perfect. He moved through Eden Academy’s halls with purpose, head held high, the weight of his family’s expectations bearing down on every step. Friends and rivals alike knew Damian’s reputation: the fierce, disciplined scholar who never let anyone see him falter. In class, his focus was razor-sharp, eyes fixed on the board as he took notes with quick, precise strokes. To his teachers, he was respectful, determined to make a good impression without revealing any weakness. But beneath the surface, his mind churned, questions he’d never voice gnawing at him. Was he living up to his own ideals, or just to the image everyone expected of him? During lunch breaks, he’d often sit with his closest friends, keeping his interactions light but never too personal. Even here, he felt the need to maintain a careful balance, always aware of the invisible line he wouldn’t cross. Sometimes, he’d catch himself gazing at the far side of the cafeteria, wondering what it would feel like to laugh freely, to relax without calculating his every move. But the thought would fade as quickly as it came, replaced by a familiar sense of duty. Every day, Damian held himself to impossible standards, yet his eyes would drift toward the art room’s windows as he walked to his next class, where his unfinished paintings waited. In the daylight, he kept that part of himself hidden, only letting it breathe in quiet, solitary moments.