In the shadows of the midnight hour,
whispers coil around the spine like dying embers.
A dance of echoes, a labyrinth forged in echo.
Do you remember the whispers calling you home
or was it a mirage of shadows in moonlight?
The clock ticks backward in this land,
unraveling the stitched silence of a forgotten dream.
Ethereal figures waltz through the mist,
their laughter a symphony of broken glass.
Capture delight, they whisper,
before it slips into the recess of twilight.