In the stillness between breaths, the Oracle's trees stand sentinel. Their gnarled branches dance slowly, weaving tales of old—stories lost to the human ear, yet whispered eternally in the rustle of leaves. The air is thick with echoes of voices, cries turned to leaves, whispers turned to roots. What do the trees see through their ancient mirrors?
Gazes cast upon the forest floor, reflections ripple like water. Within these reflections, visions shiver—a girl in a long dress spins, her laughter echoes in the distance as a dog barks somewhere far away. The branches twist, revealing glimpses of that fleeting moment caught in the mirror's breath.
As dusk descends, shadows from unseen things stretch long, embracing their spectral origins. What truths do these mirrored worlds tell? The Oracle's trees know, but they speak only in riddles of growth and decay, of life and the secrets held just beyond the veil.