The echo meanders through the corridors of time, weaving shadows and light.
Gems of thought, petrified in layers of forgotten whispers, shimmer beneath the surface.
What once was a vibrant tapestry lies in the fetid quiet, threads tattered, meaning lost.

Dreams cobweb the ceilings, their eddies caught in the amber.
Segments of consciousness, fragments of existence — who were they, these ghosts of what-was?
The labyrinth guides but confines, echo but ne'er releases.

Beneath the labyrinthine echo lies the key, buried in the echoes of the unspoken.

An echo is just a shadow of a shadow, always chasing, ever elusive. In the mirror of time, it speaks:
Fossils Ephemera Resolve.