The Corridor of Frequencies

"Prithee, waltz with me," whispered the echo in tones uncharted,
painting the air with invisible waves, ripples upon ripples unmoored.

The corridor unfurled like a serpent made of silk and whisper,
stretched in dimensions unfathomed. "Thou art the melody I am yet to become."

Frequencies danced on unseen strings, a symphony of corridors,
where each step was a note, each breath a pause, woven into a tapestry of sound.