The Garden of Mirrored Skies

She found herself in a garden where reality had begun to fray at the edges. A bright yellow chair sat expectantly on the pavement, near a silent metal bench, both waiting for a conversation that would never happen. Before her, a massive wall was painted with the impossible likeness of a perfect blue sky, dotted with fluffy white clouds, so convincing it almost merged with the true sky where distant palm trees swayed. But the garden held stranger things: mirrors, trimmed in ribbons of orange, blue, and a riot of other colors, hung against the painted sky like portals. They did not reflect the woman or the vibrant pink flowers of the bush beside her; instead, they showed glimpses of other lives, other streets, fragments of places she had only seen on the postcards displayed neatly on a nearby rack. She stood there, a quiet figure in white, caught between the sky that was real, the sky that was a memory, and the countless worlds trapped in glass.