The alley breathes beneath the cobblestones, a secret murmur echoing in the silence of night. Shadows, shapeless, yet familiar, dance along your path, whispering...
The song, haunting like moonlit rains against the paper-tattered sky, weaves through your thoughts, unraveling threads long forgotten. Step lightly, one, two, three, the rhythm carries you; the cobbles feel so real tonight.
Sinuous whispers latch onto your ears as you wander toward nameless paths—streets hemmed with memories not of your own. Yet every archway, every wall watches and waits, swallowing breath as secrets untold linger.
And the nightingale sings—though no bird takes flight this twilight, specters unseen echo their mournful lullaby—a tune not meant for wakening, nor sleep, but a waltz across eternity of simmers.