The wind, perhaps.

A voice, long forgotten.

Your shadow flickers, pauses, reconsiders.

Ask, and the echo repeats, "Was it me?" the walls ponder, in silence.

Listen closely, but hear nothing. Just a riddle in the dust where footprints once were.

Silence, except for the distant whisper of fading lumens.

A doorway appears, unseen, yet felt in corridors.