Shadows speak through midnight winds, carrying voices drowned in eons.
Here, different rooms of mind segregate dreams into oblivion.
A boy made of whispering echoes found a golden key.
The corridors breathe your name. Silent screams linger against alabaster walls.
Know this: the keyhole sees all, even what you refuse to remember.
In the room of mirrors, reflecting paths diverge without form.
or
Journey Through the Threshold of Phantoms