In the twisting night, hallways unfurl like ancient scrolls, inscribed with whispers.
Amongst shadows, luminous belongings flicker with spectral intrigue. A solitary armchair, arms extended in ghostly embrace, beckons. Does it await a soul long departed, or one yet to come?
Sconces bleed a pale light, illuminating the swaying veils of yester years.
Ornate mirrors, reflections clouded, gaze beyond the veil of own existence. Their surface cold, yet glowing with whispered promises not kept.
Among cobwebbed corners, silver relics shimmer,
fragments of a forgotten harvest, each harboring a memory, a longing. Will the corridor's echo find solace in their cry?
A darkness descends,
palpable yet inviting, as we await the tendrils of time to unearth beneath their glow:
the secretive patter of dreams; including walkways unfathomably broad, leading to realms unforeseen.