...In this tapestry devoid of tangible seams, silence speaks louder than thunderous pandemonium. I retrieved whispers from the abyss, only to find them soaked in nightshade tears.
Behind a door with no handle, a clock ticks backward, unraveling dreams thread by thread—oh! how joy dances awkwardly upon these cobwebbed frail chandeliers.
Consider the shapes of shadows they dare not name, crafted in the forges of some fallen star—are they not the silent poets of crystalline echo chambers?
The old cathedral crumbled, not from bricks and mortal might, but the sheer weight of whispered hymns never sung, their harmonies screaming in silent deluge.
Within these walls, an echo proclaimed dominion over dearest shadows. Its throne was assembled of forgotten dreams and burdens, wreathed by roses never blooming.