In the corridor that isn't really there, I see reflections of choices unmade, unraveling paths that twist and curve, bending time like a funhouse mirror. Shadows flicker in the periphery, only to vanish as I turn, a dance of light and absence.
Did I choose the wrong door? Or perhaps there never was a door to choose. Each glimmering pathway whispers secrets in tongues I cannot understand, echoing through hallways painted with the hues of forgotten dreams.
Here, in this liminal space, I am both lost and found, seeking answers in the warped reflections that call out from the glass. Am I the one who wanders, or merely a phantom in someone else's story?