In the labyrinth of forgotten whispers,
an echo once murmured your name,
scattered across the yellowed parchment in brittle webs, lodged in shelves of dust.
Each page a mirror, each mirror a doorway.
Step lightly, for the shadows here speak in riddles,
weaving the past into a tapestry of glimmering uncertainty.
Listen, can you hear?
The echo of a voice long silenced, calling from corridors of time.