Standing in the fog, a singular plume glints and then vanishes, a dance of the unseen.
Why do the reflections tremble like this? Is it the trembling of the pond's edge or the solid state within our hearts?
Mirror upon mirror, truth but a distortion of shadows... have you met the other side of your labyrinth today?
Seeking the silent steps of the moonlit revelers, perhaps with every glance, we address the absent stars.
Echoes of silent confluence