There lies a garden of muted chambers, where lilac whispers intermingle with the haunting melody of forgotten echoes. In the embrace of twilight's whispered lullabies, voices, supple as the stretching silks of a chrysalis, find life again. They speak, "What binds a soul to remembrance, when all is cast in shadow and in the dance of unyielding time?"
Let the mirrors answer not, for their silver tongues are veiled in mysteries of the ages. Each reflection they hold, fragrant as an autumn rose, paints an image that flees at the touch of dawn's pale fingers. Yet the voices, like autumnal leaves, cloak a presence around such transient shapes "Echoes of the lost, where do you sail, but upon the waves of unshed tears?"
Do you find solace, dear traveler, in the remnants of these whispered tales? Follow the dim path through veils unseen, and perhaps discover a fragment of that which was, or a glimpse of that which yet may be beyond the shadows or beneath the void.