Deep in the echoing corridors of crimson strands, the ghosts whisper ancient lullabies.
Their voices weave through time's relentless flow,
cascading dreams where silence speaks in verdant hues.

"In a land unspoken," one voice murmurs, "the shadows cradle forgotten light."
Serene figures trace the outlines of their histories,
living ambers pulsate at the afternoon's dying edge.
Listen, feel, follow, they beckon.

The resonance lingers—a scarlet echo.
Threads of reality dissolve, like mist dissolving at sunrise,
renewing it yet, mending what was never whole.
Beyond the veil,? read on...

Frederick's gentle laughter rings,
carved on unyielding stone, lilac-drenched breezes
unravel voices like forgotten tapestries, whispers in them.

"Part the mists, bearers of dawn and dusk,"
sing their silent melodies through words unspoken—
through tales untold too—tether the threads, they toll.
Chase the murmurs, early birds...