Mirrors break, break, and break again. In their shards are not images, but echoes. An echo of an echo, a line from a forgotten speech. The room is dim, yet illuminated by a thousand broken whispers. Do we see what is real? Or is real, in itself, a reflection caught in a loop? Look closer, and you will find an abyss looking back, repeating its cryptic mantra. Reality is a dance of lights and shards, spinning endlessly. Unravel the thread, and all is revealed.