In the depths of the library, whispers breathe between the yellowed pages, delicate oscillations that cup your ear like childhood lullabies turned spectral. Beneath the silver glow of forgotten words, shadows find solace, cradling the echoes of words never spoken, yet known by heart.
Here lies the anomaly, a quivering verse in the symphony of silence, a reminder of what was and what might never be again. Each book a mirror, each reflection a window. Outside, the world spins on, oblivious to the time-worn secrets that sift through each forgotten memory, like autumn leaves caught in the dance of an unseen breeze.
Lull yourself with the stories they tell, woven in the language of the lost, the language of the ethereal. And listen closely, for they murmur the truths only the shadows know.