Amidst weary stones, whispers unspoken, a lingering resonance that traces forgotten paths. Shadows elongate, dance upon worn stone, each step echoing in rhythm with the heart's own drum. Along the silent corridors, the walls are alive – alive with what can no longer be confessed. Visions shimmer indistinctly, like mirages of silence. The temple holds its breath.
Inside, shadows merge. Breath on glass, just reflections, trickle quietly. Are we ghosts? The light ebbs and flows, tide on the shores of solitude. Silent screams coaxed by the undercover of night, unruly yet homely. Above, stars wink through cracks, observant solitude.
The silence sandwiches between these stone guardians, serrated yet soothing.
The veils. Echoes linger beyond comprehension, a prayer turned legend. Unwritten histories inscribed in the fractured air, stitching a quilt of quiet hymns reverberated through tactile vines where nature meets history.