Within the deserted corridors of shadowed truths, where mirrors tremble with the flicker of forgotten
whispers,
one's heartbeat finds rhythm in the hollow clanging of fate's relentless gavel.
Linger by the silken thread of half-delivered secrets, and listen...
"She saw herself, but not as she was;
Instead, bathed in hues of decay wafted from past sins,
Like petals of the night-blooming cactus, opening rare to the gaze of wanderers."
The old clock's hands danced, mocking the flow of time...
Visit the chambers of silence.
Explore echoes forgotten in dim coffers.