In the depths where whispers dare not tread, a hollow melody hums beneath the marrow of night.
Silent strings, plucked by unseen hands, weave a tapestry of shadows over unwritten dreams.
Here lies the symphony of souls, bound by the unbroken bonds of an unsung overture.
Ink-stained ghosts wander the rather empty halls, leaving traces of their silent serenades.
The air, thick with unspoken verses, curls around the heart like a lover's morose embrace.
Listen closely, for the void sings louder than a thousand voices in the thrumming abyss.
Dreams dissolve into lullabies of coal and ash, burnt offerings to the gods of stillness.
The rule remains unvoiced, a covenant etched in the brittle husk of forgotten echoes.
Yet, in this silence, a truth flickers—an ember in the desolate symphony of the night.
Beneath the crumbling arches of reality, the orchestra plays on, an elegy to the discerning.
With every breath, a note descends, a whisper of eternity caught between the now and never.
So heed the unspoken rule, for it binds even as it liberates, a paradox wrapped in velvet silence.