Once upon the esoteric garden pathways, where tulips spoke in haikus, an owl perched upon the back of forgotten clocks, whispering secrets of afternoons lost to dusk.
Beneath the stairwell mirrors of a house without rooms, a symphony of footsteps echoed, tracing their origins back to the ink-stained clouds hovering over moonlit canvases.
In the attic where rainbows folded themselves into origami shadows, a child's laughter danced hand in hand with the specter of untold stories hiding inside dust-laden books.