In the depths of the mirror, where light dances like a secretive flame, a jade murmur speaks. Ancient whispers wind through the glass, touching on the edges of forgotten dreams.
Gaze into the emerald abyss, and you shall behold the fragments of your shadowcast self — where every flicker of the wandrous reflection unveils a story, softly murmured by the ghostly echoes of time.
Are these spectres of what might have been, or just figments clothed in the whispers of sleep? Let the mirror tell, let its eternal shimmer guide.