"In the whispers of the dying embers, a flicker of forgotten opulence... such was the music of the moth-drenched halls."
"Veiled in mist, they speak — echoes of a once profound serenity, now shadowed in relentless night rains."
"A lullaby stained with the tales of weary caliginous couriers, carrying the weight of unsung requiems beneath the vault of a quivering moon."
"Can you hear it? The whispers trickling like mournful spectres steering the candle's finite dance away from oblivion?"