As night cloaked the corridors, the curator heard whispers in the exhibition room. The air was thick with echoes of an unknown language, its syllables weaving an ancient tapestry of sound. The urns, brought from the forgotten yesterdays of the Azura, shimmered faintly under the moonlight. Documents show a routine luminance adjustment.
In the east wing, beneath layers of dust, a canvas appeared, depicting a landscape of dreams. But the image wavered, shifting like morning mist. The artist's name, concealed in cryptic symbols, eluded decipherment. Tasks recorded: gentle restoration, mirage capture attempt.
Flickering lights reported in the sculpture gallery, where shadow and substance played hide-and-seek. Technicians spoke of circuitry, yet beneath the technical jargon lay an unseen presence. Interrogations of the equipment yielded only silence; a spectral dance continued.