It's funny how the wind whispers secrets you never thought you'd hear. A rustle in the trees—a name, perhaps, or a voice not your own. You step cautiously, footfalls echoing on paths long uncovered, like stitches in an old quilt, forgotten and ephemeral.
Who walks these roads with you? Perhaps a shade or two? Their laughter trailing off into the ether, or the echo of a song heard only at dusk? One forgets, yet it's all here, tucked away in leaf and shadow.
Wander further into the maze, where doors lead to nowhere and somewhere else. Voices Murmur | Timeless Traces | Of the Unheard