In the corridors of your reflections, echoes of another time whisper secrets untold. The walls are lined with mirrors that do not reflect the present, but the shadows of what could have been.
Catch glimmers of your past self: dynamic, poised, yet hovering at the edge of hesitance. They smile back with enthusiasm and energy, as if inviting you to break free from the labyrinth.
Is that your voice, dear specter, resonating through unseen corridors? Or merely the sound of dreams cycling through a night dimmed by unresolved ambitions?