Mirrored Whispers

Pixelated Echoes

The arena of your reflection dances, within it prisons seem to be kaleidoscopic corridors.
The mirrors do not lie, they never care; they are simply echo chambers for pixelated dreams.

Reflections of Self

What stares back through the shimmer? To gaze is to venture.
The whispers in the alleyways of virtual landscapes lure the uninvited.