"In the silver-draped hall of tears and mirrored ghosts," she whispered, "do you see the shadow of the real?" The endless whispers bounced, fragmented. Each syllable, a drop in an ocean of glass.
Reflections untangle themselves from shackles unseen, threading dreams into linen cloth. The mirror speaks in riddles. Listen closely, but beware the words that dance away in lunatic revelry.
Glimpses of forgotten realms cling to the edges—barefoot children running through autumn leaves, their laughter a symphony in reverse.
Do echoes make motion less poignant, or give chase to the shadow's ballet on the wall of whispers? The answer is awaiting, somewhere in the dew-kissed dawn of unmaking.
Would you walk further in a corridor lined with endless mirrors, paths paved with reflected stories? Only time knows what lantern lights the eternal maze. Or is it a candle flickering in a hurricane?
Whispered Echoes - Unforgotten Dreams