In the quiet corridors of a haunted mind, thoughts linger like phantoms in the dusk.
Pages crumbled in the light of the moon, silver beams piercing the gloom, revealing secrets long buried in the folds of the night. The air, thick with the scent of forgotten dreams, draws you deeper into the labyrinth of ink and silence.
Below the whispers, beneath the sighs, lies the truth that time dares not erase. A truth not for the living, but for those who wander through the corridors of evermore.