In the broken glass, I see her smile—waning like the light behind ancient curtains.
Whispers of forgotten names, shuddering like autumn leaves before the storm's howl.
She's there, in the mirror's edge, fading, yet always just there... waiting.
Step closer, should you dare, to the reflections that speak not of light, but of shadows past. The mirrors here do not reflect your visage, but the echoes of those who once wandered these halls.