The clock struck twelve, yet the hands did not move. Shadows danced along the hallway as if in a play, where none were watching.
Was it a dream, or was it a memory enveloped in fog?
Beneath the willow, whispers of forgotten languages curled and drifted with the breeze.
The earth spoke in riddles only the brave could decipher. What was lost, and what was never meant to be found?
In the attic of the old mansion, dust motes told stories of strangers and friends yet to meet. The air thick with the scent of faded ink and tales untold.
A voice called from the past - or was it the future?