Tread softly, where time avoids the tick, in corridors of intangible breath.
An echo heard only by those who dare listen, caressing earthen walls, secrets laid bare beneath veils of silence. The labyrinth sings a static lullaby, its hymn the rustle of unseen wings.
Voices in the labyrinth speak only when there is no voice to speak, in whispers woven of echo's fabric, taut yet delicate.
"Soundless footsteps in moonlit recesses," she murmured, as shadows deepened.
Here in the stillness, dreams slip away like mists at dawn, and the stars tell stories not meant for waking eyes, their own lullabies stitched into the fabric of the night.
Your path is your own, shadow-paved, mystery-laden, each step a note in the symphony of silence.