In the corner of a room where shadows do not reach, a melody hums beneath the floorboards. It is the song of dreams untold, a faint echo from a place where time loses itself in twilight clouds.
The walls here bend, curving like soft whispers, reflections of reflections in a distortive dance. Mirrors smile back with eyes not theirs—laughter caught in a lens, forever shifting, forever just out of reach.
Somewhere beyond the glass, a garden grows, but its flowers sing in colors unheard. Blossoms drip with dew like thoughts too heavy to hold, glistening in the ethereal light of an unseen moon.
Walk the corridors of this wandering mind, where every turn reveals yet another door to open. Perhaps it leads to spectrum, where colors weave narratives of their own.
Or mayhaps, there lies a path to echo, where echoes of dreams past murmur softly, waiting to surround you in their tapestry of forgotten whispers.