She stood in front of the glass, a thin veil of mist obscuring the edges. "Mirror, mirror..." but the words were lost in the fog. In the reflection, shadows danced, flickering like old cinema reels.
An old photograph passed by, a sepia-toned carnival scene. Laughter echoed in a foreign tongue. A girl with a red balloon waved, but the face was unfamiliar. Yet somehow, it felt...
...familiar.
The mirror whispered tales of yesterday's dreams. A bicycle ride on cobbled streets, a game of hopscotch under the golden sun, and whispers shared beneath the stars in a garden long forgot.
Click here to step into the garden's forgotten path, untouched by time.
She placed her hand against the cool surface, feeling a pulse, a rhythm of memories intertwined with shadows. Somewhere in the depths, a name echoed. Not her name, but...
...perhaps someone else's?
The mirror reflected more than just her image; it reflected a world of what-ifs and could-have-beens. "Mirror, mirror..." The sentence was unfinished, like a story waiting to be told.