Behind the door of unsaid yesterdays, the murmurs of forgotten dreams linger like fragile cobwebs.
"Did you see it, the shadow that spoke Italian in the rain?" asked the man with the stolen eyes.
"They meet by the midnight fair at the edge of the forsaken woods," whispered a voice from the cracks.
In the flicker of candlelight, letters formed:
And the clock on the wall began to beat too loudly, each tick a reminder of what they dared not recall.
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