In the dim narrow confines of an ivory fragment, shadows whisper tales never seen. You breathe, only to find existences being abstractly defined away from personal perception.

Your reflection shifts. It gazes at you, a touch delayed, painting itself not as you see, but as you fear. Here lies a hollow echo, dissecting every yearning moment crumpling silently behind stories untold.

Days become stitched fragments in your gaze. It grows suspicious, questioning creases in otherwise settled folds of patience.

Paths diverge not just ahead, but below too, within. Refract your motives through spectral prisms framed cruelly where soul meets abstract lucidity—the Mirage Way (yet unraveled beneath sedimentary pain).