Haunted Reflections

Mistakes echo in timeless corridors. When crossing realms, heed the whispers.
The mirror reflects not just what has been, but what veers close to being once more.

Imagine, if you will, the gilded keys—once bright and promising—rusting in the fog.
Their true form revealed: mere illusion, coating forbidden doors.

Beware the phosphorescent path, it leads not to comfort but to shadow.
Walk where the silence is, not petals of masquerade light.

Listen to the echoes—voices of those who walked before,
Their cries woven into the very tapestry of each intersection.

Close your eyes and see: the reflection stands still, its secrets locked,
Yet each breath it takes whispers more than the last.