The midnight trembles as cogs grind within their brass entrapment, an orchestra only the shadows hear. The hallway stretches, drawing whispers that cling like ghosts.

Before the silver gleam, a desk hums silently with the memories of a hundred forgotten letters, signeted by time itself.

Turn the corner, let the symphony of lights overhead tell you a story, an opera of light and color spun around your senses.

Beneath the Clock's Dance