In the depths of the forgotten alcoves, where sunlight fears to tread, the mirrors lie. Fragments of glass and silver, where memories hover like mist over morning lakes. They call your name, not with voices, but with the gentle caress of whispers, echoing the laughter of times long gone, the voices of friends never met, and the scent of lavender drifting on a breeze from nowhere.
Step closer, they beckon, with a glimmering edge that draws the eye but warns the heart. Look and see, they murmur, though what is seen is oft better left unseen - the room filled with shadows dancing to tunes only they know, faces half formed, only reflected in the sigh of a breeze.
"Do you remember...?" one asks, though you know not who. Its lips move, formed from the vapor of what was, and you give an answer to a question never spoken aloud. Slumber whispers back to you from ages past, urging you to remember the forgotten tales of the radiant waltzers.