The whispers of what once was.

In the corners of a forgotten room, dust dances on invisible strings.

There, the relics lie, quiet dreams waiting for a touch, a breath, a glance.

I remember - or do I imagine? The stories etched in silence.

Echoes, familiar yet foreign, tracing paths in the air.

Do they remember me? Or am I the shadow among shadows?

Another Whisper Unspooled Threads Echo of Devotion