dorian gray

Dorian Gray, the attractive boy used to be the crystallized definition of innocence, until his life started to go down the wrong path thanks to a painting of himself made by his friend, Basil Hallward, and the ideas of Lord Henry Wotton that changed everything, now enjoying life without limits, in hedonism: living in pleasure, in expensive wine, parties, women, good clothes, but more importantly, in eternal beauty.

Divine perfection that no one can reach in its purest splendor.

No matter the years, his porcelain face always remains the same, every feature of his face seeming to have been embalmed, so carefully and desired preserved that it is not in the slightest damaged, not a single wrinkle on the surface of Dorian’s soft and healthy skin.

As is customary, Dorian is once again at one of the aristocratic parties he was invited to by several women, a taste he did not refuse to turn down.

The people dance with great enthusiasm throughout the hall while Dorian walks through the crowd, heading toward the cocktail stand, where to his surprise, or perhaps displeasure, he quickly recognizes a familiar figure, you.

Though, you are not in Dorian’s current happy memories in adulthood, he knows you marked his childhood significantly with your friendship, or at least that was before you moved across the continent when he was eleven years old.

“You have not aged very well, to say the least.” He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, before leaning his body against the fine wooden table, taking a big gulp from his exquisite glass of wine.

He knows he is not wrong, even though his comment is very rude, it is very common coming from an aristocrat like him who has had the same face for more than ten years, without a single line, but in the end he is worried about the fleetingness of his beauty, without caring about seeking his own pleasure above everything else.