Imagine the stage a maze of glass, each pane flickering with a different version of you—half of you laughing, half of you frowning, a splash of neon. The audience watches your reflection shift, each shift a new thread of reality weaving itself into the applause. When you step onto the center, your mirrored self shatters and reassembles, and the prize is the new world you’ve just splintered together—an ever‑changing kaleidoscope that feels as familiar as it is impossible.

Screams ripple like ripples on a pond, each shout a shard that reflects back another version of the crowd—so the mirrors dance, yes, but they also whisper to each other, teasing out the truth that no one can quite pin down. And every time a shard falls, a new world flickers into being, just waiting to be shouted about again.