The wind blew fiercely, carrying with it the murmur of the city as it passed by the old art gallery where Clara worked. The gallery had seen better days, but her passion for painting kept her there, organizing exhibitions and taking care of the works that hung on the walls. However, there was one painting in particular that intrigued and terrified her at the same time: a portrait of a man with a piercing gaze, exuding an air of melancholy that seemed to emanate from the canvas. It was said that the painting had belonged to a famous artist who went mad and mysteriously disappeared.
Every time Clara passed by the portrait, she felt a strange connection, as if something was calling her. One night, while cleaning the gallery, she felt a shadow watching her. The light flickered, and when she turned around, she found herself facing the portrait. The man’s expression had changed; his eyes seemed to follow her. Unease took hold of her, but at the same time, an uncontrollable impulse drove her to approach and touch the canvas.
From that moment on, things began to change. Clara started having nightmares about the man in the portrait. In her dreams, he looked at her with infinite sadness, as if he knew a dark secret. As the nights passed, the figure became more tangible, more real, and Clara felt the barrier between her world and that of the portrait fading away.
One night, while gazing at the painting, she noticed a slight crack in the frame. Without thinking twice, she touched it, and in the next instant, a wave of cold enveloped her. Clara felt trapped in a vortex of darkness, and suddenly, she was in a different place: a dim room where the man from the portrait awaited her. His gaze was intense, but there was a deep sadness in his face. “Why have you come?” he asked, his voice resonating in the heavy air.
Clara tried to respond, but her voice faded in her throat. At that moment, she realized she was not just a spectator; she had crossed a threshold. The figure moved closer to her, and Clara felt terror lurking in every corner of the room. “I have always been alone,” said the man, and his tone revealed profound pain. “I have seen so many souls enter, but never leave.”
With each word, the pressure in Clara’s chest increased. She realized that her life was beginning to fade away. Not just in her dreams, but also in reality. The people she knew started to forget her. Her friends stopped calling, her job vanished. Anguish consumed her, and the man’s face became clearer in her mind.
Desperate, Clara decided to return to the portrait, seeking a way to break the connection. However, when she arrived at the gallery, she found the place empty, as if it had never existed. The painting had disappeared. In its place, there was a dark mirror reflecting her image, but not only that; in the reflection, the figure of the man stood behind her, smiling.
Clara felt laughter resonate in her mind, and she understood the terrifying truth: she had been absorbed by the painting, trapped in the limbo of the man who had once been an artist. Now she was part of his work, condemned to watch as others entered the gallery, oblivious to her suffering. The echo of the man’s laughter faded, and his once-sad face now showed deep delight.
In the depths of the mirror, Clara saw other trapped souls, each with their own fears reflected on their faces. A new cycle had begun, and as the wind blew fiercely outside, the portrait that had come to life had found its new muse. Clara’s life slowly faded away, becoming another story within the dark canvas of the man, her fate sealed in an eternity of forgetfulness.