In the center of a forgotten glade, the mirrors whisper. Whispering shards, parables untold, the secrets of the maze unfold. Echoing, ever echoing, in circles around the spirit. One step, another, in rhythm with the heartbeat of the labyrinth.
"Turn left," says the mirror. "Right, again," insists the shadow. Correction by the mirror's gaze, correction by the shadow's pull, your path retraced in cycles. Cycles within cycles, whispers lost in the labyrinth.
Find your path through the reflections,
surrender to the maze of mirrors.
The dance of glass and light—ever the same,
yet ever a new ascent.