When did the familiar shadows become strangers? Their voices float like fallen leaves caught in the veil of night, murmuring secrets of what was not meant to be understood.
Reflect upon the face that smiles back, - is it yours, or merely an echo, long tossed in the currents of oblivion? Touch not your reflection, unless you're willing to fall through the glasspanes of reality into realms unshackled by time.
Enter the corridor with no return, whose walls echo the laughter of forgotten gods.
A whisper becomes a roar within the confines of one's own making. Whisper the names of those you once trusted, watch as they slip through the gaps of the intangible.
Seek solace in mirages dressed in memories, or walk the path where shadows weave narratives written before time itself was a quaint notion.
The glass vibrates under your breath, enter the hall whose foundation rests atop what you call ignorance.