In the mirror's edge, shadows weave tales...
Whispers of a past life,
ever flickering, ever dimming.
The glass, once clear as morning dew,
now holds the remnants of those nameless
who passed through the halls of memory.
Can you see them too?
A face that isn't yours stares back, chilling
with a grin that deepens the dark, a silent echo
of laughter that fills the empty
chambers of forgotten dreams.
The mirror cracks, but only in your mind,
the fractures seep into your skin,
a mosaic of ghosts that dance outright.
Who else dimmed before you?