In a room dimly lit, where shadows cast themselves like forgotten memories, mirrors hold secrets that words could never fathom. They reflect not just appearances, but the silent echoes of a mind wandering through labyrinths unseen.
Have you ever gazed upon your own reflection and felt the gaze return with a haunting familiarity? It's not you, or is it? These reflections are often reflections of reflections, spinning tales of delirium and clarity intertwined.
Delirium, a state not always tied to madness, can manifest in the simplest of observations—the flicker of a candle, the rustle of autumn leaves, or perhaps a whisper behind a glass that seems to know your name. In these states, clarity sometimes slips through the fingers like grains of sand, revealing truths only the heart can understand.
Mirrors, in their silent authority, hold these truths hostage, awaiting the moment when curiosity overpowers caution. What do they see when we turn our backs? What narratives do they weave in our absence?
Encounter more paths through these echoed halls: Corridor Whispers, Ephemeral Echo.