In the whispers of the shadowed nodes, where echoes merge with the silence, the stream flows with a mirrored surface. Here, reflections are not as they appear. They twist and writhe, revealing facades cloaked in veils of midnight.
Walk not the banks of this stream, for it holds the echoes of what might have never transpired, reflecting dreams and nightmares intermingled like ivy on a forgotten tower. The moon hangs, not as a celestial body, but as a watchful eye, perpetually curious of the tales we dare not speak.
The mirrors above the stream flicker, revealing images of other worlds. A land where shadows converse with light, laughing upon their ephemeral touches. In one flicker, a face appears—both familiar and estranged, wearing the guise of time itself. It tells you the story of your reflection, one not of your world, but of a whimsical shadow play.
Ponder, wanderer, and read the whispers carried by the breeze, for they are messages left by those who tread before you. The nodes of fate beckon as darkness swathes the horizon.