In the hollow dark, where time leans back, an echo slips through the fog, murmuring secrets lost to the light. It spirals in whispers—lingering, fading, then returning like an old friend following you through shadowy streets. The air vibrates with forgotten songs, nostalgic melodies ghostly yet vivid, distilled from ether.
The walls hum with stories untold, a symphony frozen in the abyss. You reach out, and the silence quivers, hesitant yet beckoning. The shades dance around, weaving patterns of light and dark, tales etched in the flicker of memories. You lean into the echoes, knowing they remember, even if you do not.