The mirror knows no words, yet speaks in the silence of its surface.
In lands forgotten at the edge of dreams, the mirror hung. Binding not the present, but remnants of the untold moments that could have been, should have been.
Once, a wanderer stepped through, only to find herself in the spaces where echoes of laughter danced with the shadows of yesterdays.
Seek her whispers beneath moonlit veils:
Detours, she realized, were but mirrors of intention, reflecting not choices made, but the unseen paths marked by unseen hands. Reflections of what was left, what was left undone, hung serene and spectral.
With every step, she became part of the reflection, not merely as the observer, but as the embodiment of all choices and the silence that followed each decision.