In the damp corners of the mind, where cobwebs of memory intertwine with the fog of oblivion, music hums. Not the lilting strains of joy, but the groaning dirge that reverberates through hollowed halls.
Once, a melody struck the ear—a ghostly waltz beneath the moon's bruised glow. It whispered of forgotten legends and unspoken oaths, echoing in the soul's deserted amphitheater.
Through the keyholes of perception, secrets spill, notes bleeding into shadows. The harmony twists, warps, as if played by a harpsichord of bones, an ensemble of specters bound to neither time nor form.
Listen closely, the silence is deceptive. Behind it lurks a symphony of untold truths, played only when the heart dares to pause. Each beat, a metronome in the void, keeping time with shadows unseen.
Enter the Hall of Reflections Distorted Echoes of Truth