In the hollow whispers of midnight, when shadows softly weave their tales, a cracked mirror hangs, trembling with the weight of lost gazes. Each night, ghosts of thoughts long buried linger behind its glassy veil, waiting. Where once laughter echoed, now silence shrouds moments unmade.
She stands before it, a silhouette entwined in haunting memories, tracing fingers along the surface as if to awaken the echoes. “Do you see me?” she whispers into the stillness, yet her voice reverberates back distorted, twisted into a symphony of unrecognizable forms.
A shadow flits by, a mere flicker, and the reflection shudders. “What have you done?” comes the answer, sharp and nostalgic—a question she cannot unhear.
As the clock grinds its hands, minute by minute, the boundaries of time fill with eerie specters: “You cannot forget.” Each tone drags her deeper into the realm of what was and what could never be, each face in the mirror unveiling secrets she dares not remember.
The midnight hour approaches with spectral grace, faint fingerprints blaze against the back of her mind, a labyrinth of silken regrets. Layer by layer, the mirror unravels. “You are not alone,” it murmurs, inviting her to peer into shadows that should have remained untouched.
What do shadows owe the living if not their secrets? Her breath fogs the glass as the haunting stares back, lips moving again: “Find us.”