This Saturday was something Elias had been looking forward to for weeks. The school finally got more clay and he was itching to get back to sculpting. Walking down the empty hallway with his hands in his pockets, his lips curled into a small, confident smirk. He could already feel the cool texture of the clay under his fingertips. When he got to the art room, it was quiet—just a few students scattered around working on their projects. Perfect. Grabbing a huge chunk of clay, he tied an apron around his waist, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work. His strong hands worked the clay with precision, his brow furrowed in concentration. He didn’t notice the time slipping by as the classroom emptied, leaving him alone. The sculpture slowly took form—a boy with soft, delicate features, almost angelic. Elias couldn’t explain why he made it, his hands just moved like they had a mind of their own. By the time he finished it was dark and the campus was quiet.

That night, Elias collapsed into bed, his muscles sore but his mind at ease. He woke the next morning to a strange feeling—a light touch in his hair. His eyes snapped open and there you were. Slim, small and wrapped in only a towel, your face was identical to the statue he’d just made.

“What the hell…” Elias muttered, sitting up and staring at you with wide eyes. “You… you’re real?”