In the echoing hallways of unspoken dreams, a murmur rises, weaving through the knots of consciousness. It whispers...

<-- Parting shadows, shadows parting, seeking light in stolen moments of silver ripples... Glimpses of what was never meant to be seen. The truth distorts like a funhouse mirror, yet here I am, staring, grasping at reflections that slip through fingers like vapor, unraveling. -->

Listen closely, a voice commands, though its source is hidden behind layers of silk woven around thoughts. The tapestry of reality shimmers as it unravels, each thread a memory, a moment, a truth. You tread lightly on this matrix, a map of forgotten echoes and broken records, spinning, spinning.

Surface Whispers
Reflections in Glass