There are echoes of forgotten yesterdays, lurking within. A glimmer of the past breathing softly with spectral breath. The moon hangs burdened with secrets.
"I don't recall your face," whispers the reflection, an inch away yet worlds apart. In this mirrored realm, the shadows know more than the light dares to.
Beyond the creaking hinges, buried behind cobwebbed curtains lies a portal—where time and reality blur into an ambiguous haze. Step cautiously; the whispers know your name.
Here, the air is thick with a perfume of decay, as if yesterday's vows are still floating like specters among the ancient rafters.