In a mansion where shadows eternally dwell,
A mirror hung high, with a sinister spell.
Its surface was flawless, its silver pristine,
But secrets it kept were wicked, unseen.
“Peer into me,” it would softly call,
“See your heart’s truth, behind every wall.”
The foolish would gaze, their desires laid bare,
But its lies would twist into harrowing snares.
A woman named Grace, with ambitions untold,
Sought answers within its frame of cold.
“Show me my future,” she whispered in dread,
The mirror replied, “Your heart’s blood is red.”
The glass shimmered bright, then darker it grew,
As visions of torment came sharply into view.
She saw herself crowned in a hall of despair,
Her throne built of bones, her reign a nightmare.
“Falsehoods!” she cried, her voice laced with tears,
The mirror retorted, “Your truth feeds your fears.
The lies you have sown, the paths you have trod,
Reflect what you’ve chosen; no mercy from God.”
Each night thereafter, her sleep would distort,
With visions of mirrors in twisted retort.
Her face would appear, but never her eyes,
For they were now mirrors, reflecting her lies.
Grace fled the mansion, her wealth left behind,
But the mirror’s curse clung tight to her mind.
In every reflective surface she passed,
Her tormented visage would leer back at last.
“Beware of your truths,” the mirror once said,
“For even your virtues can twist when misled.
The lies that you tell, the masks you may wear,
Will follow you always, no matter your prayer.”