In the quiet corners of this world, where the air hums with forgotten tales, lies the book of whispers. Its pages murmur secrets known only to those who dare listen.
Kaleidoscope dreams drift through open windows, blending reality with visions painted in hues of dusk. You walk through, step by step, with each footfall a brushstroke on the canvas of being.
One shelf leads to another, spiraling into infinity. Each book a doorway, each word a key. What lies beyond the last page? Perhaps another shelf, waiting to be filled.