In the dim glow of a fading dawn, the mirror hung like a portal upon the wall, its glass surface not capturing the present, but a cascade of memories. The kind that ebbed and flowed like the restless sea, relentless in its pursuit, whispering secrets only the depths could know.
Once, you stood before it, not as a reflection but as an echo, a fleeting silhouette shrouded in the mists of yesterday. Each wave of recollection crashed against the shores of your soul, pulling at the sands of time, shaping and reshaping your identity in ways both gentle and violent.
You could hear your voice, though it was not yours, speaking in riddles, casting shadows longer than the fading light. Questions unanswered hung in the moist air, as dense and heavy as the fog rolling in from the abyss.
"What lies beneath?" you pondered, echoing the voice that was not your own, searching for truths buried deep, where no light dared tread. Here, the mirror was not a reflection but a witness, guarding the mysteries of the deep, the pull of the tide.
And as the last echoes faded, you felt the pull of the abyss, the alluring dance of darkness beneath the surface, promising answers, whispering tales of forgotten shores.