Unspooling Moments:

The projector flickered, shadows danced against the archaic wall, a murmur...

"The Great Chase through the Mist", reads the title card, a slip of routine Fridays brought alive by hysteric renditions, ephemeral lives intertwining, unwittingly unraveling the very fibers of their moment...

She tiptoed across the cobblestone—
echoing silence ripples that feel so loud,
grains of sand slipping, slipping...

The old man reaches beneath his coat—
a flawless circle of silver
reflects the multitude walking past,
ghosts behind the curtain.

'Momento Mori', she clutched it tightly,
not yet knowing what's fated of faithfalls.

Light slips out of mind as cells collate,
sequences re-breathe what air will not, echoes taciturn beneath velvet shadows.
Continue in Whispers.