Within this hollowed chamber, shadows stretch grace notes in silence, grasping at the edges of forgotten murmurs. Voices of old, they cascade like the mournful tide, blending with the very fabric of the air that here holds its breath. What spectres tread these floors, what secrets lie entangled in the webs of dust?
As the clock no longer ticks, the solitary figures in anticipation remain hollow, caught mid-choreography in whispered waltzes. Lantern light does not reach the corners where time itself dares not wander. The walls, weary of holding stories untold, sigh under the weight of invisible memories.