In corridors twisted by time's cruel grasp, I wander, searching for semblances of light.
Shadows whisper secrets, their voices laced with echoes of forgotten dreams.
My reflection—pale, flickering—dances upon the walls, a specter caught in a shimmering
veil of sorrow.
Do you hear the echoes too? They sing a melancholy dirge, a requiem for the lost and
the damned. I reach out, but the mirrors mock my touch, cold and unyielding.
What truths do they conceal?
Once, this room echoed with laughter; now, only the weeping remains.
Each drop of despair reverberates through these hollow halls, each one a
reminder of what was, of what might never be again.
Seek not solace here, for the dead weave their tales in shadows and light,
crafting illusions that torment the living.
Gaze into the shimmer and see what the mirrors refuse to show.
A reflection of despair, of loss, of relentless passage through these
spectral realms.
Their laughter haunts my dreams, a chilling reminder of a world that
once was, now veiled in darkness and echoes.