Tom walks cautiously through a labyrinth made entirely of tall

$Tom walks cautiously through a labyrinth made entirely of tall, seamless mirrors that stretch endlessly in all directions. The floor is black glass; the ceiling cannot be seen. With each step, reflections ripple outward—not just of him, but of other versions of him. A younger Tom sprints past, eyes wild with fear. Another version—older, broken, sits curled in a corner, whispering to himself. Yet another stands defiantly, arms crossed, dressed in black, eyes burning with anger. As Tom continues, the reflections become more surreal: one Tom wears a crown of vines, smiling gently; another floats upside down, weeping; one bleeds light from the chest, holding a snake made of fire.He stops at a central chamber, a circular space surrounded by infinite reflections. In its center is a throne made of curved mirror shards. On it sits a version of himself that does not move—but watches. This version has no eyes—just smooth mirrored skin where his face should be. Tom slowly approaches. Every version he passed now appears in the mirrors around him—dozens, maybe hundreds. The silent watcher raises one hand. Instantly, all reflections mirror the same gesture. The chamber fills with radiant white light.Cinematic wide shot with spiraling camera motion, echoing footsteps, whispering memories layered in the soundscape. Color palette: cold silver, obsidian black, flickers of red, soft ghostly white. This is where all the selves meet—and either fracture or fuse.$