Beneath the obsidian sky where whispers of forgotten crows linger,
a single lantern flickers its hellish glow. Inside, a dim room—
walls adorned with tapestries threadbare from time's cruel touch,
telling stories of spectral dancing shadows upon granite floors.
Was it dusk or dawn? Neither, nor both—a realm unclaimed by day or night.
The mirror, a relic of bygone splendor, holds secrets
speckled with the dust of centuries.
Each shard, a glimpse into lives unlived, yet achingly familiar.
Through these prisms, refracted thoughts meld into a melancholic
waltz of memories that echo like footsteps on hollowed wood.
What do you see? A reflection not your own...
Beyond the reflected glow, the world continues—
but only echoes of its sound reach here.
The wind's whisper speaks of ancient trees,
their gnarled roots clutching secrets buried deep,
holding the earth's eternal breath in silence.
Listen. Can you hear their sigh?
Here, in the interstice of reality and reverie,
time curls in on itself, a snake consuming its own tail.
In shadowy corners, specters weave tales of wonder,
tales no one dared to dream lest they become true.
Perhaps destiny's design is merely a dance;
one we forgot how to step to.
An omen, or simply a jest? Linger, and you may find out.