In a distant realm, under the heavy pall of twilight, the castle walls groaned with the burden of ages uncounted. Cobwebs spun tales of yore, and the flicker of candlelight revealed faces known only in the mist of dreams.
The tapestry hung askew, its threads woven from shadows and the soft, sinister laughter of the moon.
Once, the grand hall echoed with the clinking of goblets, the laughter of sprites, and the murmurs of forgotten romances. Now, it stood empty, save for the occasional rustle of a bat's wing, the sigh of the wind through cracked stone.
Here, the clock's hands turned not with time, but with the pulse of those who dare dream under its watchful gaze.
Outside the battlements, shadows danced in the glow of a silvered sky. A specter, perhaps, of the kingdom’s last bard, whose melancholic ballads still lingered in the air like autumn leaves catching the waning light.
Have they, the song, the specter, and the sky, shared a secret, one too profound for mortal ears?