Herein lies the figure in the cloaked dusk—an observer of the unspoken veneer. The shadows speak in hushed tones, their tongues flickering with ancient flickers long extinguished.
A reflection whispers: "The walls have ears, the tables spectres, and the mirrors infinite truths."
The mirror replies: "In every gaze, a fracture forms, through which dreams escape."
Phantom voices wail: "The night passes, and shadows dance in the flicker of dying embers."
Ravenous mirrors eat the light, producing echoes amidst haunted reflections and twisted seams. They promise not to hold secrets—vows unspoken and calibrations of fate in their silent depths.
Whispering ShadowsEmbrace the fading light as it escapes through prismed distortions—each hue a testament to the lies we've nurtured and the truths we've cast aside.