In the belly of stone shadows, a whisper was born anew. It spoke not with voice, but in tremors felt through worn soles.
Here is the wandering heart of the maze. One finds solace in detachment. Yet, one finds oneself laid bare in untold reflections.
What I sell, I sell to no one. The labyrinth offers trade with its silence. It buys certainty, sells bewildered thoughts.
Following a road that stretches under forgotten archways, a merchant ponders what could have been, had the walls not whispered.
Papers arranged in disarray speak louder than clarity itself. Theories intersect like roads leading to inevitable impasses.
An old map, frayed at edges, reveals corners never trodden, shadowed by histories yet to be conceived.