In a chestnut corridor, where whispers reign over the walls, the footsteps echo not their origin, but their intent.
"Do you remember, as children remember dreams upon waking? Or perhaps it is not a memory but a mirage..."
Golden in hue, fleeting like autumn’s grace; the movement a ripple upon fabric unseen.
Align yourself with antiquity, yet stand apart. Observe the alignment of unseen geometries.
"Footsteps mark the presence, yet shadows dance to music unheard..."
An invitation, an enigma.