At the stroke of midnight, when rational thoughts dissolve into the ambient echo of glyphs long forgotten, the mirror speaks. An oracle in silver guise, revealing not truths, but truths about truths. Alas, self-admiration is its own dystopia.
Lo, the ancient hieroglyphs carved on the face of the reflecting glass – they mock our progress. "What became of us?" they ask, "In the age of digital divination, do you still cling to silver procrastination?" Ironic, given their endurance in an ephemeral world.
Reenter: The Mirror, as existential narrativist, Scripture of Reflection 12:32 cautions about images duplicitous in their myths. For every wrinkle weincrypted in decryption, there lies an unseized opportunity, decoded only by those fluent in the tongue of mirrors.
The irony is palpable, such that even our cognizant reflections crinkle with laughter, tempted to redefine reflection itself: a mirror to questions unanswered. Ancient today speaks tomorrow's reply: Are you yet fluent, or still reading in the shadow of your past?