In the labyrinthine corridors where silence echoes, there dwell sound traps, ensnaring footsteps in melodies of whimsy.
A soft caress of words unspoken, floating in the twilight air like petals from a forgotten spring. To listen is to wander close to the precipice of dreams.
Trace the EchoesThe haunting song drips from the walls, a cascade of forgotten hymns sung by shadows. Its allure is a web spun by the moon's elusive fingers.
Listen to the SymphonyA groan of footsteps past pervades the air, a testament to wanderers lost in the embrace of the night. Their stories carve themselves into the marrow of the earth.
Read Their Lament