"Mirrors, they say, hold the truth," she whispered, her voice a ghostly echo in the corridor of perpetual reflections. But what truth is there in an ever-changing visage?

Shadows melt and merge, faceless wraiths slip through the cracks in your mind, and suddenly you're there, in a room that doesn't exist, caught in a contemplation that devours understanding whole.

Murmur >
Reflections >