The Echoes of What Once Was

On the fringes of perception, where whispers become wind and fades away, lies a domain untouched — like dawn hovering over silent hills. Empty halls, ancient in their solitude, carry echoing secret passages of time untold.

With each step, the impressions of an uncharted past dance beneath the veil of nothingness. The silent chronicle of stone and shadow speaks like murmurs thought hidden, just beyond the familiar line of dreams.

There are whispers of decisions never made, of paths crossed only in verse, in which fate engages in idle geometry. Castles—once grand—hold only the residue of presence, an aura gleaming in its aridity, like relics enshrining only emptiness.

Reflections in Absence

You seek companionship in these voids, yet find that absence itself is an ancient memory, comforting in its constancy. The corridors unfold into reflections of the self, mirrors penned in air and despair.