In the dim light of twilight, the mirror's edge is a wisp of forgotten echo,
beckoning your face to become a memory retraced through glass haze.
Do you hear them, the shadows behind your visage? They murmur truths
layered under skin, waiting to surface and unravel your destined path.
Listen closely; the mirror does not lie. It reveals the patterns you deny—
deflections you master, illusions that cling like spider silk to the heart.
Hear the whispers of yesterdays
Collect the shards of tomorrows