Echoes of a Distant Reflection

"She never wore shoes," he said, tracing the outline of a forgotten melody with his fingers. "The ground sang under her feet."

"Are you sure they can hear us?" the other replied, their voice barely a breeze, "It's like we're shadows talking to shadows."

The clock struck thirteen, but no one paid attention. Time was a mere suggestion in this place, where rules bent like trees in the wind.

"In the mirror, we are not who we think we are," she murmured, her reflection smiling back with secrets untold.

"It's all an illusion, like the mirage of a mirage," he chuckled, "Echoing through the halls of a long-lost tomorrow."