In the realm between echoes, where words were once woven, a phantom limb reaches.
"Ethereal shadows dance," the syllables murmur, tracing constellations in dust.
Silken threads of language linger, binding the unseen to the whispered known.
A library within a labyrinth, pages of air flutter unspoken tales.
"Seek beyond the spoken," advises a voice without body, without time.
How do you listen to the unsaid? How does one hear shadows sing?