The mirror never speaks, yet whispers secrets in dark velvet tones.

"Do you see what I see?" it murmurs when the moon hesitates to rise.

Through the glass, a world that is not, nor has ever been, familiar
unfurls in spirals, where trees float up, leaving roots to walk skies.

You stand here, feet bare on the edge of reason, looking in.
Reflection distorts, a smirk upon the face that isn't yours.

"What stands behind you," it asks, "that you have yet to turn and face?"

The answer lies in the shimmer, the flicker of night’s gentle laugh.
As you turn away, the mirror hums a dirge, bittersweet and soft.