A shadow cast before the light, a name that echoes, not my own. Carved by hands that never tremble, stitched in whispers, set in stone. I wear the weight of borrowed sins, a fault assigned, a crime unnamed. The air is thick with quiet verdicts, a sentence passed but never claimed. Steps grow heavy, silence lingers, a trial held in absent courts. The gavel falls in unseen chambers, truth unraveling in retorts. But if the mirror held their faces, if their hands bore crimson stains, Would the echoes dare to falter? Would the weight still bear my name?