In the hall of echoes, where the whispers cease, a hollow sound arises, carrying the gentle breeze. It hops from corner to corner, a shadow in silent dance, tracing paths unseen, in an immutable waltz of chance.
The air thickens, laden with tales untold, chronicles of the forgotten, in echoes bold. Hark! The sound of the breeze, a soft and spectral hum, a resonant journey, where all thoughts succumb.
Drift Into Silence Return of the Echo