In the attic, dusty treasures lay. Old stories whisper, in playful, childlike tones.
The furniture here remembers everything, from the beginning to quiet ends.
Once, a chair spoke:
"Sit, but do not stay long. My wood is weary of feet."
Can you hear the whispers? They dance like moths in dusky light.
Find more whispers here: The Dust Dance | Wooden Tales
And the old table murmured:
"I hold secrets, but time is a thief of memory."
Cracks in the ceiling smile like old friends, inviting stories untold.