The Echo of Glassy Waters
The reflecting surface stands as a bridge between dimensions, a seamless illusion spun by the hands of forgotten gods. What we see is not always what we get, for reflection is but a deceitful twin—intangible, unmarred, waiting only to grasp its form across the gossamer divide.
Often, beyond those tranquil layers, lurks a world drenched in umbra. Here, the light does not scatter but converges, warping into shapes that mock our rigid understanding of existence. To peer into a reflecting surface is to confront the bifurcation of reality—a haunting vision of what lies beneath the fragile sheet of the present.