Reflections in the Haunted Mirror

I saw him in the mirror, or perhaps it was me, a different me—an echo holding a rose, its petals dew-kissed, trembling with secrets untold.
Silhouettes of past lives danced behind, their laughter a melody wrapped in shadows of time, weaving stories of passionate encounters lost to the mist.
Here, love is a ghost, tender and with a hint of sorrow, brushing against the edges of the heart.

In the stillness, the mirror murmurs tales of forgotten lovers.
Their hands once intertwined, now only the touch of air remains, haunting.
What do you see?
The question lingers in the air, where the past uncovers its mysteries in fragments of light.

Echoes of whispered vows, bright as the stars, fade into the night, but the reflection holds on, waiting, wanting.
Take a step back, and let the whispers guide you through their stories, for they are timeless, stitched into the very fabric of this glass.