I often find myself here. In a corridor of tomorrow, where yesterday's echoes play like haunting melodies. The air is thick, not with fog, but with the weight of what might have been. Each step forward feels like a step backward, a cyclical waltz in a forgotten ballroom.
Around me, reflections ripple. Faces I've known, intertwined with shadows and light, blur at the edges. It's a dance of memory, half-formed and intangible, slipping through fingers like sand. I reach out, but the touch is an illusion, a fleeting grasp at something that was never there.
There's comfort in the distortion, a familiar unease that whispers truths in this carnival of the mind. The mirror smiles back, not with malice, but with a knowing glance that suggests what lies ahead is simply a continuation of the paths we've already traveled.
Explore the Echoes of Confusion or witness the Distorted Realities.