A whisper echoes, dampened by the embrace of silence. In this cocoon of forgetfulness, melodies hang like cobwebs. Time is curled like autumn leaves discarded.
The protagonist, clutched by a tangle of dreams, weaves between memories—each one a fugue, promising yet elusive. There's a song of rain against window panes, a haunting lullaby from a mother who never sang.
“What was it?” she murmurs, brushing her fingers against the void, each motion bringing long-lost tones into focus. Her breaths syncopate with the rhythm of her heart. A gentle heartbeat, exiling paradoxes.
Yet yearning coils tightly around the chest, thick like fog. And still, each pulse intricately cradles fragments of sound - the clang of forgotten keys, an embrace in the dark, the rustle of leaves whispering secrets to the wind.
Outside; the world is humming. The chrysalis begins to crack...
She is almost there, an unseen bridge linking the sonorous symphony of being.