Beneath the shroud, once where warmth whispered, lies an empty corridor. Symbols dance, cascading in the twilight of a forgotten memory. Shadowed corridors of intellect weave echo.

Insert token of beige here, Or perhaps toward the gates.

Hands not seen grasp not the essence, Yet touch touch confines you.

The light refracts, a prism of absent dimension. Links within links, dreams within the state of waking.

Seek the fracture, the hollow of scripture; paradox of absence. Evoke an unheard tale.

Words wouldn't falter, if only they didn't... traverse.