Another damp afternoon stirred the gallery’s hollow corners, bringing a chill that wrapped the air with unvoiced secrets. I stood alone, surrounded by canvases steeped in forgotten glories, their surfaces whispering tales of ghosts.

The guide had mentioned phantom footsteps before veering away with a curious smile, your cue to journey deeper into this odd museum. It wasn’t long before I felt the brush of unseen travelers crossing my own path where the gallery opens sharply wide. Do you notice the rustling fabric that isn't there?

A shadow flicker at the periphery demanded closer inspection, but what loomed only presented itself as an endless corridor, one that the guide must have walked, entwined with silent echoes. In that moment, you, too, shall become the thread unwoven from time's tapestry.

Between those neglected corners, an invitation unfurled—a whisper of stories untold, lost in the folds of silence, waiting for someone brave enough to chart them anew.