They found it in the attic, covered with dust and ancient secrets—a mirror not of glass, but of silence. Beneath its still surface, whispers lingered, relics of moments past, haunting echoes of another time.
As they peered into its depths, the whispers grew clearer, weaving tales of shadowy figures—friends and adversaries woven into the fabric of stories untold.
Somewhere, within the reflection, a voice murmured, "Who reflects in tales not theirs to tell?" The answer lingered, unfound.