Year 1859, a shadow passes through the flickering gaslights of an alley in London. A doll sits upon an old vase—its porcelain skin stark against age’s touch. Eyes, but not of this realm, catch time's whispering currents. The scent of roses wilts, leaving echoes of laughter long buried in dust and dread.
1645, during solitude's embrace in a scorched library, a mirror cracks, revealing not faces but passages. Brave journeys of weary souls played upon flame flickers. Each spark spins a tale: a jester once, now a spectral king observes. His crown bears no weight, yet calls from ethereal hangings abound.
The year prattles like a fool—1972, Paris, a clock carved from unexpected fruit kept ticking even when sound lay beyond. Its chisels did not bite time, rather tasted dreams beyond vigil. Beneath its breath, annals whispered how hopes transmogrify when curled in darkness.
Seek further aft, find chaos amidst etchings or retreat to paper shadows' domicile.