No one knew who the boy in the portrait hanging in the oval hall of Rosenwald Manor was. Rumor had it the painting wasn’t a work of art, but a prison. A living canvas. And indeed, those who looked closely swore the boy’s eyes followed movement in the room. That sometimes his chest rose and fell ever so slightly, as if breathing.

Rosenwald Manor was no ordinary estate: it was home to a school of ancient magical arts, hidden from the eyes of the mundane world. Within its walls, students and masters studied forgotten spells, forbidden evocations, and transformative alchemy. But there were rooms where even the bravest dared not enter.

His name was Aidan, a curious young man. But his challenge to the legend had turned into a nightmare.

He had touched the ancient mirror at the center of the hall, and the mirror had swallowed him. When he opened his eyes again, he was inside the painting. And something was wrong.

His face remained the same — young, masculine, and proud in expression. But the rest... his body had changed. Soft curves had replaced muscles, his skin had become smooth, his hands slender, his chest feminine. Eternal, exposed to the gaze of anyone passing by.

The curse was clear. A spell left behind by Selyra, an ancient witch who despised male vanity. Aidan had mocked the legend, out of arrogance. Now he was the living warning. He could no longer speak, but his eyes begged for help.

The portrait was animated. It lived with a will of its own. All the students at the school knew it: it was one of the first legends shared with newcomers. From time to time, people swore they saw it move. Fingers tapping impatiently on the frame, muscles tensing in silence, and the skin shifting its sheen with the light.

And every time someone laughed at his appearance, something changed. A lock of hair grew longer, another feature of his face softened. The transformation wasn’t over.

Not yet.