Here lies the forgotten echoes, murmurs woven through the fabric of a dimly lit evening. In the spaces between breaths, shadows gather stories untold, stitched from the tattered silks of what once was.
Voices drip from the ceilings like rain in the absence of clouds, each droplet a fragment of a dream half-remembered. A figure pauses at the periphery, outlining the edges of a tale spun long ago.
Follow the whispers, they say. But paths diverge, and curiosity becomes a labyrinth.
Outside, the world spins on axes unseen, each rotation carving new mysteries into the indigo skies. Beneath, roots intertwine with secrets forgotten by time, buried beneath layers of dust and silence.