A specter in the twilight, the whisper is more than a memory, more than a fleeting shadow. It snakes through the undergrowth, brushing against the leaves like a lover's breath, seeking solace in the forgotten groves.
In the heart of the forest, beyond the reach of light, lies an empty room that never was. Its walls hum with the echoes of sentences starting but never completed: "I once knew a woman..."; "They said it was wrong..."; "The child had no name..."
Silence answers with an unholy affection, lingering after every attempt to break the void. Yet still, the words chase their meanings along the hidden paths, seeking to unlock the secrets of the woods that the moonlight dare not reveal.