In the dim light, it whispers. Not in words, but in the shimmer of what was and what could have been. Walking these halls, the sound of your footsteps becomes a singular presence, echoing off the bare walls, as if able to engage in conversation with its own resonance.
Here lies the story of a winter long ago when laughter filled these spaces like scattered sunlight through a morning mist. Beyond the glassy smoothness of the mirror surface, another world exists, frozen yet infinitely connected.
Look closely and you may glimpse the shadow of a figure, hands clasped in thought, gazing into the distance. They are not searching for something lost but contemplating the fragility of all that remains untouched by time.
The Echoes that Speak Musings on Fragile Artifacts Relative Motion in Stillness