In the whispering depths of the Verdant Grove, mirrors made of leaves and shadows lay scattered across the old forest. These were not ordinary mirrors, but gateways—portals to places unseen and untouched by time.
The first soft rays of pixelated dawn revealed their secret to Maren, a wanderer lost in the thickets. She hesitated, her breath a mosaic of mist, as she gazed into the surface of a mirror.
"Digits and dew," she murmured, the reflection spiraled like a digital tide, revealing a land not of this world.
An echo of her voice ricocheted through the trees, a singing glitch that lit the air like fireflies trapped in a sunlit bottle.
Here, the trees whispered stories to the winds, tales clocked in the strange rhythm of dreams and glitches.
Enter the Glade of Shadows Ripple of Time