Whispering corridors, an echo of echoes, never crossing the same path. The old clock ticks, marking moments lost in the folds of time. Echoes of forgotten memories, scattered words in shadows, traces of footsteps leading nowhere. Turn left, turn right, but always away. Away from certainty, into the heart of uncertainty where the real puzzle lies. Portal to another realm, where the familiar becomes the strange. A door that opens to more doors. The walls breathe, exhalations of long-forgotten air, swirling in currents unseen.