In the hall of glass,
where the whispers meet echoes,
a mirror speaks not to the one,
but to the fragmented self.
Through the haze, a figure dances,
each step revealing magics untold.
What breaks in silence
draws courage from solitude;
embrace these shards,
for they craft stories of the unheard.
In labyrinthine corners,
the unseen specter lingers.
We wander strange worlds,
in fleeting reflection;
eternity trapped,
within each shattered glance.
Gaze deep,
and the hollow whispers return.
Seek thou the secret chamber
at Hidden Doors,
or listen to the echoes at Labyrinth of Nothingness.