In the stillness of a forgotten dusk, a mirror that never reflected anything now lies. It whispers tales of shadowed faces, unseen and unfathomable. The old relic speaks in echoes; does it recall your visage, or merely the one it never wished to forget?
Within the crests of a sickly star, there rests a vial—its contents swirl with the whispers of untold memories. The liquid within ebbs like the tide of ancient fears, lost to the annals of time yet eager to resurface with each tremor of the heart.
Hanged upon a void of obsidian concealment swings a pendulum—a mere breath registering its motion, a temporal thief capturing seconds within a rhythmic dance. Beneath it, a phantom script etched by the hands of time urges the beholder to unravel its cryptic cadence.