And in those darkest corners, where light fears to step,
the dance of particles resonates.
One moment a ghost,
the next an echo,
indefinitely caught
between being real and merely imagined.
The walls themselves listen, consume,
their own atoms whispering secrets of ages past
that no human ear can comprehensively decode.
Have you heard the lady's song,
trapped in the north turret?
She sings in frequencies
unfit for mortal comprehension,
weaving tales of worlds coalescing and collapsing
amidst the stars—
where decoherence reigns
and coherence is but a fleeting dream.