In this interstitial realm of soft murmurs, a shadow seeks solace in forgotten echoes. Beneath the ornate whisper of time, a reflection stirs—a visage unclaimed, yet so familiar...
Mirrors, those keepers of secretive planes, hold not your image, but the ghost of what could be—
each ripple of silvering glass announces the dance of forgotten selves.
"Are you, or are you not?" the reflection asks, its voice entwined with the sigh of ancient clockworks.
In the corridors lined with whispers of lace, follow the echo's path, where light meets shadow and the human soul embraces its haunting duality.
Somewhere else, the silent spectrum awaits, drawing spectral silhouettes against the frequency of what we dare not remember.