In the hushed corridors of a lost castle, she walked. Each step, a whisper of the past; each footfall, a memory aching to be heard.
Once, voices filled these walls—laughter, arguments, secrets shared in the glow of candlelight. Now, only her breath mingles with the echo of stone.
"What remains," she ponders aloud, the question swallowed by the empty halls.
There's a door, half-open, to her left. Beyond it lies a room where the air tastes like forgotten dreams. Dust motes dance in shafts of light, their movements echoing an ancient rhythm she can almost discern.
She recalls stories told in reverence: of midnight escapades and the haunting song of a siren. In these stories, truth coats itself in possibility, draping the mundane in layers of wonder.
She finds herself drawn to another door, its surface etched with symbols she cannot decipher. What stories stand guard behind such barriers?
With tentative fingers, she traces the cold metal of the handle, and whispers creep out from the crevice—a low murmur like the sighing of the sea.
"You are not alone," they whisper. "You never were."