In a world where silence ruled, there existed whispers, sculpted from shadows of voices that had once filled spaces now stripped bare by time. Sara found herself tracing paths through these echoic remnants, long corridors lined with the invisible specters of chatters no one could see, but everyone felt.
She stepped lightly, knowing the way required a special kind of attention – to hear what was not said, to read the gestures of phantasms defining their narratives without a single spoken word. Among the flickers of unreal presence, she could hear fragments of stories weaving their destinies.
A melody once sung floated by, a mere ripple against the starkness of absence, enough to shape a profound resonance. “Is it enough to remember?” she asked the void, her question casting its own echo that bounced against the granite pillars of memory.
Answers came in the form of blushes upon the walls, punctuated by periods that echoed more than other truths. She penned those answers in the air with her fingertips, the ink of night swirling in constellations no stars dared traverse.
Follow the Sound to Its Source