Girl Found Dead in the Met Museum’s New Mirror Maze

A remarkable filmmaking prodigy at just seventeen years old, Emma Liu had already made a name for herself in the film industry before her tragic death.

tucked away beyond broom closets and flickering liminal corridors, there is a secret room just for me. it is large, with a purplish light that buzzes and pops. none of the works have plaques, yet i know that it is an exhibition of the girl i am and will become.

Described by her parents as a “brilliant young woman” who dreamt of attending the University of Southern California for film, Liu was set to graduate from Saint Ann’s School for the Arts this coming spring. She was involved in student council and led her school’s film club.

propped up against the wall on my left is a painting almost my height, framed in gold. a woman with cracked cherry-red lips and hollowed cheeks stands in a sterile room. even in her wrinkled hospital gown, i can tell she was once beautiful. i watch her standing, eyes blazing at the sky with some unfulfilled vengeance—still as death, or the in-betweens of heartbeats.

By the time of her death, Liu had won multiple awards for her self-directed short films. Most focused on her experiences as an Asian-American in a predominantly white neighborhood. At the time of her death, she was working on a film dedicated to her long-time boyfriend, 19-year-old Connor Wilkes.

she drops to the floor, clawing as if to fend off an attacker. but she is her own attacker and i stare, entranced, as her bitten fingernails tear into her flesh. gory movies always made me nauseous but i cannot stop watching as she turns to a shredded pulp at her own hands—because i understand.

Liu’s friends added that despite never properly meeting her boyfriend, he seemed to be a “nice guy.” Wilkes, a freshman at New York University, could not be reached for comment.

i understand because when he looks at those girls—thinner—prettier—blonde—i too want to skin myself alive until my own disgusting body falls apart. until i have no physical form for him to use. have you ever considered going on a diet? there’s this new weight loss drug my sister’s trying; she really likes it. i can get you some if you want. what are you getting so worked up about? i’m trying to help you. fine. can we just do it once then? come on, i love you, baby. if that was love, i hope i never have to endure it again. rich white boys and their white pills and white-collar entitlement.

However, Liu’s mother called the pair “lovebirds” and claimed Wilkes “was like family at this point.” Liu had no previous records of mental illness, and her various diaries displayed no content indicating otherwise.

my head hurts. i turn to the next painting. the woman dons an old hollywood gown and a string of pearls. from afar, they look like teeth, a grotesque grin stretching across her paper-white neck. she wanders through an empty theater. i wonder if she will die like the other one.

It was around 7:00 AM Monday morning, just hours before the exhibit was expected to open, when a janitor heard screaming coming from the Mirror Maze exhibit room.

the woman steps outside, sees her reflection in the shattered box office window. her face twists with agony. she sizzles into the red carpet with a gut-wrenching wail. the pearls' smile spreads ever-wider at me atop her melted remains.    i smell burning flesh.

Upon finding Liu thrashing on the ground, he immediately called emergency services. Police arrived on the scene at approximately 7:09 AM.

i understand this woman too, recoiling at her own face. an actress like me, praised for her ability to pretend. i do not know who i am anymore. i am only what the camera sees right through me.

Liu was an ambitious director and hardworking student who left behind a legacy of admirably raw, authentic films.

i star in these films gleaming, sparkling	burning alive. every big star becomes a supernova becomes a black hole	dark  and  ravenous and  uncharted.

Liu’s film club advisor, Andrea Miller, said in a statement on X that she was “crushed” to hear about Liu’s death. “She had a special talent for genuine storytelling,” Miller said.

i don’t want to be a star i want to be a girl seventeen stupid tender infinite. seventeen glowing alive in love. my camera that sees through me, my boy that doesnt see me at all.   fuck it to pieces.

“She was an inspiration to young filmmakers everywhere, a rising star gone too soon. Rest in peace Emma.”

i turn to the last painting. the woman sits on an oak-wood chair in the middle of a field, dark hair blowing against her white linen dress. the terror in her eyes and furrowed brow tells me she is trapped, trying to escape something beyond my vision. she feels vaguely familiar. i want to reach out and help her but i do not know how.

Liu was a cherished friend and daughter, and she will be missed dearly.

her head snaps to me as if i’ve spoken. we lock eyes. i cannot look away.

At the time of this article’s publication, officials are still investigating the cause of death.

she screams at the sky in a way that transcends rage—something invisible, visceral, something i have felt  all my life       her jaw unhinges      flesh falls from bone 	         the shriek grows louder and her lips peel away and  where there was once a woman there is now a gaping, 	bloodied chasm	   i am spilling onto the floor in a furious red cold-blooded heap	 oh GOD 	i see it now     a betrayer, a—vessel a weapon of my own creation, 					   i am 	     my fate	         i cannot help you i’m sorry i’m so sorry 	i will die  in ptolemaea where i belong      please——make it stop   stop stop	 stop 	    stop                  stop 	stop 			STOP

Foul play is not suspected.

- m

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