In the stone tower high above the clouds, the sky whispers about the stories that were never finished. Little voices echo through empty halls.
Once upon the tick of a tick-tock-y clock, the books thought they could talk. Over the years, pages smudged and important things got rubbed away, but not the shapes.
In there, everyone hid behind blankets or played peek-a-boo, so shadows pretend to forget. But remember not saying the undo-said thing: boxes cannot redraw themselves.