"What is seen is never what is," the mirror murmured, as shadows danced against the wall.
In the dim light of the unseen dawn, one contemplates the face of eternity reflected not upon a lake, but upon the surface of a whisper. The intricate dance of self and void, each a reflection of the other, merging and diverging in an eternal symphony.
Does the mirror remember the reflections it has borne? Each visage a moment, a whisper, a thought imprisoned in glass. The symbiotic dance of life and reflection, ever embedded, yet transient.
"Speak again, though no one listens," spoke the echo, "for silence is the loudest of truths."