In the labyrinth of memory, the echoes begin to form. Every turn, every shadow cast with phantom light, speaks a forgotten word. I tread lightly, almost afraid to disturb the delicate dance of visions from the past, or was it the future?
Moments replay like an old film, flickering at the edges of perception. I see a door I've never opened between walls draped with tapestries woven from starlight. "You've been here before," it murmurs, but the voice is just an echo—of what, I can’t remember.
Fragments of conversations linger, shifting like sand through open fingers. An air of familiarity cloaks this silent theatre, playing scenes that only half belong to this reality.
"What if I told you... the path ahead is simply returning?"
- An echo, perhaps a whisper?