The shadows gathered, weaving tales from forgotten whispers. A dialogue of echoes, held in the liminal space between the seen and the unseen. They spoke of a maze, one of ever-shifting paths.
"Do you hear the murmurs of the moonlit corridors?"
In the heart of the labyrinth, a single word carved in stone; "brouhaha." The meaning eludes, slipping like water through fingers, yet it resonates, a bell tolling in reverie.
Figures cloaked in twilight drift silently, their faces obscured by the pallor of dreams. They carry lanterns of otherworldly light, illuminating the maze with a glow not of this realm.
"Follow where the shadows lead," they whisper, "for the path unfolds beneath the weight of your footsteps."