In the damp corridors of yesterday's echoes, I walk. A soft shuffle, like the dragging of invisible feet against worn wooden floors. Listening intently, I trace the rhythm, hoping to uncover secrets in its familiar pattern.
There's an almost comforting cadence to these intrusions—comforting, yet chilling. Each step reverberates against the backdrop of muted memories. The once cherished laughter now haunts these hollowed rooms.
A door creaks, not from any external force, but from the whisperings of the past. A phantom, ever elusive, glides past the threshold, leaving a trace of frost in its wake. The chill seeps into the marrow, a gentle reminder of the spectral company.
And there it is again, a cascade of silence cascading over the soundscapes of reality. Like rain on an old tin roof, a constant patter of memories lost, but not forgotten.
Journey towards Shadow Drift Navigate the Mosaic of Echoes