Not all stories are told in words; some dwell in shadows beneath the surface of still depths. Here, where the stones sit cloaked in mystery, a tapestry of reflections weaves the silence into a living shroud and echoes of what once was ripple through the silent abyss.

Each stone, a chronicle written in texture and age, watches over the restless reflections like old sentinels, resting in quiet oblivion. They mirror tales untold, yet known to the ancients woven in the fabric of the earth beneath the reflected pool.