Under the pallid glow, the shadows creep, weaving tales of forgotten memories
An echo of something once heard...or perhaps, imagined? The walls sigh,
For the clock ticks, yet it has no meaning here, only the whispers of time slip away...
A figure stands, cloaked in the mists of uncertainty, the air thick with the scent of
decay and undying regret. Fingers trace patterns in the dust, stories
that should have been told long ago, yet remain unfinished, like dreams half spoken.
The flickering candle casts a shaky light, illuminating the words that bleed into
the void. Outside, a raven caws, a reminder of the bitter truth that lingers just beyond the reach of consciousness...