Curiosity whispers through broken verses of long-lost ardors. Here lie tomes carved on the silk of shadows, palimpsests. Ancient lovers pen moist dreams upon scrolled histories, erasing beauty only to uncover its fleeting dance. Can parchment love? Can the ink remember the flesh that touched it long ago...
In alec sky bata reckoning, azaleas strewn by frivolous whispers; even incandescent secrets fade velour under honeyed twilight...
Within these walls draped in midnight's orange, a cowardly curiosity leads us down narrow hallways lined with mirrorless histories, often called summaries of fails. Underneath each fib lies another enigma. But what passion could truth arouse with rapture?