In the heart of night, where shadows conspire with sleep to weave tapestries of silk and murmur, dwell the dreams that dance like ephemeral ghosts. They twist in corridors without name, formed of gossamer thought—where endings lie hidden like secrets unsaid.
Each maze, eternal, murmurs beneath the patter of the mind's silent tread. Whispers echo, asking questions without form, conjuring pathways draped in twilight’s embrace. Have you walked these halls, finding solace in their unending symmetry?