On the cusp where night hesitates to linger, shadows traditions of their whisper. A quieter plane of reverie...
"Between the walls, meant to breathe, lives an echo of your name.
Soft as the moonlit waltz upon the silken veil of dreams.
These hallways were ours,
though fabrications of empty returns,
are stitched with thread divine embedded 'in' wait.
Trace the steps touting their invisible crowns; our timeless twilight ensemble remains.
Shalt thou venture beyond these perfumed tokens of untouched nostalgia? Discover passages anew: