In the stillness of the dusk-lit room, a whisper emerged—gentle, like the caress of silk upon skin. The kind that brushed against the edges of reality, daring one to listen. "What shapes, what stories linger here?" you sought an answer, yet found only the echo of your own breath.
The reflection seemed unwarranted—an intrusion of past voices. You leaned closer, curiosity piqued. "Who are you?" you questioned the shadow that flickered just beyond the glass, but the answer remained entangled in silence.
"Solve the secrets I weave," it murmured, a disembodied invitation. The mirror pulsed, not in light, but in some unseen rhythm, inviting you to delve deeper into its echoes. You felt compelled to unravel this enigma, a puzzle guarded by memories of another time.
Perhaps the mirror held fragments of older tales—of journeys untraveled and dreams misplaced. Each reflection a step back into a world woven with ghosts of the unremembered past.