The mirror, a door covered with dust, opens not to light, but to the shadows we forgot. Remember:
In the long-forgotten hallways of a place we once called home, the wooden floors sigh as if they, too, bear the weight of unspokenness.
Footsteps — a solitary echo — ricochet off walls that seem alive, their surfaces barely containing whispers of the past.
Each step a ripple in a sea of silence, waiting for the last footsteps to kindle the tongues of long-tamed echoes.
There exists a room, an alcove partitioned by veils of forgotten time, wherein lies a mirror that reflects not what stands before it but what once was.
Reflections shimmer with shades of crimson and voices murmur, lost yet familiarly disquieting.
A hallway stretches beyond reach, an invitation refused, a promise whispered in starlight.