The hallway stretches longer with each step, a corridor lined with whispering memories. Above, where clocks once hung, time has fled. Shadows flicker like old film reels, capturing moments that never were. Dust settles silently in the spaces where pendulums once swayed, and silence is loud.

She walked these halls every morning, boots clicking against the sun-bleached tiles. Her routine marked by the tick-tock of clocks now absent. Each step echoed with a rhythm only she could hear, a beat to a song lost to entropy.

"Do you think they'll come back?" he asked, standing where the last clock fell silent.

"No," she replied, looking up at the empty spaces, "they've gone like everything else." The truth hung heavier than dust.

And so the absence repeated itself, an echo of echoes, a silence that filled the void where time once ticked.

Follow the whispers | Chase the echoes