Whispering Readings

In the edge of dusk, Mary found herself drawn to an old mirror, tarnished edges sparkling with past sunlight. As she leaned in, the reflection softened—revealing not just her face, but countless whispers tangled in her hair.

Late nights were often spent staring across pools of glass in the hall. Each time, the reflection stared back with less vibrance. The whispers—clearer now—spoke of choices and paths left untaken, as if reminding her of shadows that crept at the fringes of every glance.

Stepping into a new life, Sam occasionally found mirrors to offer safety and discomfort in equal measure. They echoed voices of ancestors unknown, kings and wanderers, voices laced with gravity of lifetimes half-remembered.