The echoes reverberate through the crevices of time—echoes of laughter, or screams, or perhaps the softest of sighs? Her voice, or was it his? No one knows. No one ever knew.
Pause... Then go drifting amidst the nebulous shadows—Shadow Play beckons.
Fingers tracing invisible lines on weathered parchment, secrets hidden beneath layers of dust and memories long forgotten. Ancient Correspondences tell tales, or do they lie?
Dreams slip through morning's fingers, like dew upon the grass, glistening briefly before vanishing into the obscure. Where do they go? Into the Abyss perhaps.