In the twilight of forgotten realms, where echoes of a bygone era drift amidst the cobwebs of time, stands a mirror. It is a relic from a future that never unfurled its wings, yet remained poised behind delicate veils.
Legends speak of the opening gates between this world and the whispers of yore. Figures in shadow, neither fully present nor entirely absent, dance upon the edges of the glass.
Do you hear them? The mutterings of an unsung apocalypse, reverberating in the silence like the soft weeping of lost souls. Each reflection, a haunting story of what was and what might have been.
We stand here, as phantoms merging with the echoes of futures, our forms entwined with the spirit of the world that shapes and reshapes itself in the chiaroscuro of light and shadow.