The Silent Tread

The curtain whispers its secrets as the wind weaves through. A memory untied, floating in the ether, waiting to be recalled.

Footsteps echo in the labyrinth of yesterday, where shadows play hide and seek. Are we players in a forgotten story?

Somewhere, in the distance, a bell chimes—soft, insistent. Each toll a ripple in the pond of existence, reaching shores unseen.