In the ever-shifting mirrorland, where existence blurs into whispering echoes,
shadows breathe as spectres of a forgotten self. There's a voice that calls,
soft as the falling dusk, yet distant with haunting familiarity.

What stories does it tell, those tales enshrined by soft shimmer? Over
translucent panes, memories linger—half-formed, half-faded outlines,
awaiting recognition in the glowing shimmer of patterns that lie beyond.

If souls could weep in reflection, perhaps we’d see the ripples,
within which truth curls like a serpent neath’ tranquil waves.

Tread lightly—fragile pathways, these ethereal corridors with portals
that open into realms unspoken. Would you linger, would
you listen to the echoes? Would you heed a touch of
eternity, situated aside spectres, glistening softly in the dark?