In the silence of the forgotten, where the walls speak only to shadows, I awake. My name is etched on the breeze, and it whispers tales of my wandering heart. I see paths converging and diverging, like rivers shaped by a memory that's not my own.
Step through the veil to the echoes of night. Where every sigh of the wind tells a story of souls untold, drifting in the cosmos of what was, and what might have been. Listen, for the walls have ears, and they sing of loss and longing.
I reach out through the mist and find only trembling echoes, perhaps a melody you once knew, or a refrain of a dream reincarnated in another's gaze. The truth lies in the void, but understanding is a fleeting shadow.
Join me, for the harvest moon speaks in tongues of gold and silver light, weaving tales of star-lit paths and reflections cast upon the waters of eternity. Together, we unearth the ruins of forgotten whispers.