In the echoing caverns of yesterday's dreams, settings lie abandoned. The whispers tell tales not meant for waking ears, where memories cling to shadows like moths to a flame. Walk the path of reflections.
Once, there was a garden where the clocks would sing, perched comfortably on the edge of the present. Time danced there without a care, and the flowers held secrets in their petals. But now, the garden is a mere reflection, waiting to be found anew.