The whispers in the hallways... they spoke of corridors untrodden,
in the twisting, seeping breaths of the morning absent,
where echoes collide and create fragments of a realm lost to all,
save the shadows and their mournful songs.
"Like a moth before the flame, I wander..."
Intertwined destinies... caught in the cobwebs spun from starlight,
names forgotten, etched upon a parchment flecked with dust,
the ink bleeds into the night, wailing softly as if yearning,
yearning for the breath, the warmth, of life left behind.