Julie was upset with me.
I didn’t know why exactly—though deep down, I suspected—but I wasn’t ready to tell her about Dorian yet.
Studying was impossible. My thoughts kept slipping away. I ran a hot bath, letting the steam curl around me like a protective cocoon.
While the water cooled, I decided to write something for my blog.
This time, I posted a painting by Magritte—Not to Be Reproduced. A polite but pointed warning about the boundaries of private life.
In the image, a man in a black suit stands before a mirror, his back to the viewer. But in the reflection—there is no face. Only the back of his head, his perfectly groomed hair. In the lower right corner, however, a book by Edgar Allan Poe appears correctly reversed, a subtle paradox.
"This strange portrait, like so many of Magri
