In the depths of silent corridors, shadows danced like echoes of a bygone era.
The projector hums softly.
Niamh stepped through the faded curtain, a world tinted by sepia memories. The projector hums softly.
Scenes flickered, aerial views of forgotten paths cradled in mist.
The words unwritten, yet spoken through gestures of the wind.
The wind's finger traced her cheek, leaving whispers in its wake.
A trail of breadcrumbs, not of bread, but of light and ink.
Raindrops on leaves, a symphony of whispered secrets, A trail of breadcrumbs, not of bread, but of light and ink.
follow the echoes to their unmarked destinations.
Lost Wonders beckons from behind a veil of fog.
Time stood still, yet moved with the grace of a dancer entranced.
The past and future tangled together like vines.
The past and future tangled together like vines.