THE MIRROR TEMPLE
They rise from light as if sculpted from reflection—metal made flesh, silence made of form. Each face is a vessel, neither human nor divine, but something dreamt between—the echo of a memory learning to breathe.
They rise from light as if sculpted from reflection—metal made flesh, silence made of form. Each face is a vessel, neither human nor divine, but something dreamt between—the echo of a memory learning to breathe.
