In the pale glow of midnight, the static hum unfurls its spectral wings. A forgotten tune, once sung to soothe the trembling souls, now lingers in the air like a forgotten perfume.
Whispers weave through the cracks of reality, a melody soft and haunting, like shadows dancing in candlelight.
Beneath the layers of time, the voices of ancients call—soft as a sigh, sharp as a knife. The air thick with memories that refuse to fade.
Sing me a song of shadows, the wind cries as it pulls the curtains of night across the weary sky. Follow the echoes through the twisted corridors of memory.
The walls remember tales of moonlight and mist—a tale too old to remember, too young to forget. Listen closely, and you might hear them too. They are not mere echoes; they are the heartbeats of the forgotten.