The clock's hand dances, ticking silently, in the room dim with dusk's embrace. Shadows, those gentle specters, waltz across the faded walls, whispering tales of forgotten laughter.
Can you hear the echoes, woven in time's delicate tapestry? Threads of silver, spun by the weaver's hand, caress the fringes of eternity. Breathe in the serene ether, steeped in ancient stories, breathing softly between restless heartbeats.