The Ephemeral Canto

In the corridor where shadows wisper dreams of the unheard, there lies an unfinished.

Clouds curdle against a sky unpainted, where the void hums forgotten melodies, and time ripples in fragments like a shattered, indefinable.

You find yourself here, within the melody of emptying, lost in the echo of what could be but never was.

Fate or Fiction Murmurs in the Echo Chrocratic Wave