Beneath the shroud of twilight, where light dares not to tread, the remnants of dreams forgotten whisper in shadows. Darkened corridors of the mind house echoes of truths once vivid, now mere silhouettes in the haze.
In an ancient crypt of consciousness, a solitary candle flickers, revealing inscriptions of time's lost stories. The walls, adorned with the dust of memories, hold secrets untold by waking lips, crying out in a voice like rustling leaves over tombstones.
The clock tolls, but the sound is swallowed by the void, leaving only the ticking of forgotten hearts to mark time’s relentless passage. Here, in the echoes of the past, silence becomes a symphony, and every note a mournful waltz with oblivion.
Seek the whispers that cling to the corners of your mind, like dew on the morning grass, or the phantoms that roam the labyrinth of your dreams, ever out of reach, yet always near.