In the dim glow of the projector, a flicker of forgotten words danced across the wall. The silence embroided the shadows, stitching them with threads of twilight desolation.
The protagonist, clad in mystery's attire, whispers into the abyss,
seeking what was never lost, nor sought, but rather, absent.
"What lies within, if not the echoes of my own voice reverberating?"
An echo, a whisper, a sigh—merely another act in the nocturne of the aural silence.