Echoes bounce off the ink walls of forgotten corridors, where stories linger untold and lives never lived. In this sanctuary of silence, whispers are the only companions, murmuring secrets of ages past, in languages twisted and warped by time.
Within the confines of the old library, where every corner cradles a tale abandoned in mid-sentence, a lone figure kneels. Shadows twist around her as she traces the lines of an uncompleted narrative, ink bleeding through the centuries.
"Does the echo describe the abyss, or does the abyss describe the echo?"
An ethereal voice chants from the depths, words lost in translation, longing for a listener. The refrain speaks of a forgotten isle, a garden of faded memories, where time ceases to weave and reality unravels into whispers. Are you the seeker, or merely a reflection of the search?