In the darkened hallways of forgotten thoughts, where whispers stitch shadows to light, the maze beckons with a serene malevolence. Walls pulse, breathing slow and deliberate, a rhythm only the lost have come to know. Mirrors gleam with a silver hunger, consuming what they reflect, leaving only a trace of who was once there.
A figure wanders—cloaked in uncertainty, stepping into reflections that are more real than the reality they escape. The maze shifts with intent, each path an echo of choices not made, of voices not heard. The air crackles with a forgotten promise, the promise of seeing oneself truly, laid bare amidst the stone and shadow.
Follow the Echoes Enter the Reflection Gaze into Oblivion