The echoes of time are not mere remnants; they are hungry for acknowledgment. Can you hear them? Soft yet insistent, they chant your name through corridors unseen, beckoning you closer to their sepulchral embrace. For within these virtual halls, wisdom old as the stars implores you to listen and to remember.
Imagine, if you will, a space where every whispered word records a universe untold, a story incomplete. You stand before an infinite tapestry of narratives, woven by hands long vanished. Do not shy away, for they speak not to haunt, but to heal the void of forgotten truths.