[Frame one: A dimly lit room hushes the air] Soul: (muffled) Have you seen... my reflection? Gordon: (pensive) The mirror here speaks only in riddles.

[Frame two: Shadows dance upon the walls] Voice: (distorted) Seek the whispering gloss, where truth wears a tattered cloth. Gordon: (wistful) I must read her curse, stitched in silver fog.

[Frame three: The reflection begins to fade] Soul: (anguished) My image... It fractures, it bleeds... Voice: This is not your visage, it's an echo of forgotten tales.

[Fade out to black, the title card appears] Title: "The Mirror Reflects Not What Is, But What Has Been Lost in Time's Grasp"