In the quiet murmurs of the midnight hall, a mask lies untouched. Shadows play upon its surface, a dance of forgotten dreams. One cannot discern their echoes — they are whispers behind glass, reflections trapped in time's slowing pulse.
"Who stares through me?" asks the mask, but no answer comes, just a sigh of empty tongues. As it speaks, mirrors tremble, splintered by the weight of silent stories, lost in the hazy mist of lost tomorrows.
Beneath the skin of the night, an elder creature sleeps, dreaming of verdant pasts and fleeting loves. Its breath is the fog that coats the mirror, the umbrageous tales awaiting rebirth in shadows.
Descend Further Chase the Horizon