Look deeply into the mirror and question what you see not what you look like. The truth lays hidden, behind feathers and echoes, far from sight yet near at hand.
It reflects back, the silence of the skies, the songs that once scattered like diamonds, curling their way across the thin air. Do birds remember songs they never goodst learned?
Walk the paths where songs have died, past the hollowed shells of yesteryears, heed the invisible song.
To navigate these woods, remember: listen to the echoes of past lives, aware of every cicada and whisper of leaf. Their truth, the rhythm of wind and rhyme of stars, shall guide you.
Do not fear the hollow trees, for they hold stories untold, and tapestry murmur secrets only to those who dare revere the echoes.
Reach the mirrored pond — the portal — in the heart of the labyrinthine trails, as it captures not images but sentiments lost and found.