In the Whispering Halls
Have you listened to the echoes of your own shadows? In this theater of spectres, the dialogue between reality and illusion plays on a loop. Each act reveals truths known only in fragments, slipping between moments like sand through silent fingers.
Once, upon the cedar stage, the wheel of existence spun and paused — a tableau breathtaking and ominous. In this pause, the audience of phantoms arose, each with a story half-remembered, half-forgotten, untold in the waking world.
Beyond the Veil
"What is real?" whispered the spectre, dissolving into the mist. "What can be perceived when sight itself becomes an illusion?" Herein lies the curtain, frayed and worn, yet steadfast against the onslaught of certainty.
Take heed, traveler of the midnight road, for your path is not singular. The more you unfold, the deeper the labyrinth. Each turn reflects different yous, splintered by choices yet to be made, battles lingering in defeat or popularity of the unseen light.