A chill cascades through the velvet air. An unspoken hymn vibrates between realms, where candlelight dances upon threads of forgotten whispers. Among these gauzy shadows, sunlight drips like molten gold, pooling into whispers unheard.
In this liminal space, misty figures curiously ponder the fleeting warmth of memories painted in dusk. Eternity is now, it murmurs, as phantasmal wings trace arcs through the oppressive hush.
Here lies the cradle of essence, where transparency defeats all that is tangible, where your reflection drowns in your predecessor's shadow.
Slip through that doorway unnoticed, with only echoes of sunlight's caress seeping through your ephemeral skin. Each footbond leaves no mark, no trace — just phantom footfalls singing a mournful lullaby.
Déjà vu weighs heavy, gilded with secrets best unraveled under a blood moon's gaze.