They spoke softly, the voices of the past, weaving through the fabric of our now, compliant and serene. Each word a thread, each silence a space of reflection as we navigated through the labyrinthine corridors of our existence.
The walls, once vibrant with the hues of stories told and retold, now stand in hues of grey, their voices muffled in the dust of time. Yet within this decay lies a harmony, a resonance that speaks of resilience in repetition.
Are we but echoes ourselves, repeating the patterns laid before us? In our compliance, do we find ourselves anew, or are we merely shadows cast by a light grown dim?