In this realm, mirrors show what is, not what seems.
"Oh, the reflections are us," she said with a voice both strange and familiar.
Once, in a dimension not quite like ours, the sands whispered secrets to the wind. A weary traveler paused, her reflection revealing truths she dared not confront. Was it satire etched in each grain, or mere irony that laughed in the wind's howl?
Read backwards, if you dare
Here, fables twist and bend like tired dancers, their routines haunted by audiences unseen. The mirror's edge reflects a world where logic falters, and the shadows themselves seem to smile, mocking those who ask, "What tale lies untold?"
Curved wisdom awaits
Reflection often is, after all, just a ghost in glass. A silent witness to the irony of fate, the satire of thought. To gaze into it is to confront one's own dimensions, dimensions untold by any fable but yours.
Haunted Mirrors Echo Without Sound