Mirror Mirror on the Wall…
Imagine being perfect -a flawless state where everything is exactly right. Its warm outside – the perfect temperature. The lake reflects you living in a perfect body - living in a perfect place.
Then you bite into a perfect apple and suddenly your perfect home - the Garden of Eden - turns into a House of Mirrors, a place where perception fractures, where reality bends, and where you become lost—not just physically, but mentally.
At first, it lures you in with wonder: dazzling lights, glittering reflections, and the promise of fun. But the deeper you go, the more it turns on you. Your face stares back at you—dozens of times, in distorted, grotesque variations. You reach for a path, and your hand smashes against cold glass. Every turn looks like the last. Every exit is a lie.
Panic creeps in slowly. You realize you're not alone—but there’s no one else there. Just flickers of motion, slivers of shadow, the echo of your own footsteps chasing you. You hear breathing, but it's your own—rapid, shallow, scared. The walls close in, though they haven’t moved. The reflections watch you. They mock you. And then you forget which version of you is real.
That’s the horror: not that you’re trapped in a maze, but that you begin to fracture, too. Doubt creeps in. You lose your sense of direction, then your sense of self.
This House of Lies - a house of distorted truth - doesn’t just disorient you—it disassembles you. Quietly. Brilliantly. Cruelly.
I see the world being slowly transformed into a wilderness; I hear the approaching thunder that, one day, will destroy us too. I feel the suffering of millions. And yet, when I look up at the sky, I somehow feel that everything will change for the better, that this cruelty too shall end, that peace and tranquility will return once more.- Anne Frank
Then you bite into a perfect apple and suddenly your perfect home - the Garden of Eden - turns into a House of Mirrors, a place where perception fractures, where reality bends, and where you become lost—not just physically, but mentally.
At first, it lures you in with wonder: dazzling lights, glittering reflections, and the promise of fun. But the deeper you go, the more it turns on you. Your face stares back at you—dozens of times, in distorted, grotesque variations. You reach for a path, and your hand smashes against cold glass. Every turn looks like the last. Every exit is a lie.
Panic creeps in slowly. You realize you're not alone—but there’s no one else there. Just flickers of motion, slivers of shadow, the echo of your own footsteps chasing you. You hear breathing, but it's your own—rapid, shallow, scared. The walls close in, though they haven’t moved. The reflections watch you. They mock you. And then you forget which version of you is real.
That’s the horror: not that you’re trapped in a maze, but that you begin to fracture, too. Doubt creeps in. You lose your sense of direction, then your sense of self.
This House of Lies - a house of distorted truth - doesn’t just disorient you—it disassembles you. Quietly. Brilliantly. Cruelly.
I see the world being slowly transformed into a wilderness; I hear the approaching thunder that, one day, will destroy us too. I feel the suffering of millions. And yet, when I look up at the sky, I somehow feel that everything will change for the better, that this cruelty too shall end, that peace and tranquility will return once more.- Anne Frank
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