Between the folds of silence, there lies a truth untold, a whisper of crimson walls cradling untamed stories. Shadows of forgotten tomes stretch like fingers across the chandeliered void.
Above, the silk hangs heavy with dew drops of memory—each drop a universe, collapsing and expanding in the blink of the unseen eye.
Beneath The FloorboardsA clock ticks, not in rhythm but in causality unbound, telling not time but adventure lost beyond the garden's maw.
Here, within the alcove of lies, reality bends around the invisible seams of what could be, what should never have been.