(Intertitle) "When the shadows danced to the crescendos of an unseen orchestra..."
- I remember the glances stolen in dim-lit corners, thick clouds of smoke, swirling like memories down the trapdoor; the threshold of longing.
(Intertitle) "The apparition of echoes, and what tales the wind carried..."
- When they asked about love, I only offered slices of sour glances unearthed from the loamy ground, where all stories take root, bittersweet and burrowed deep.