In the castle's forgotten corridors, whispers linger like fading echoes through cracked walls. Once, they spoke of places unseen and dreams never iterated. The old tome rests unopened, dust lingering on the spine like regrets of words trapped within.
Perchance one might find the hidden door
Where words once were written
And tears now run dry,
Beneath vials of shadowed hours.
A cobwebbed chandelier swings above the entryway, casting a lattice of silhouettes on the floor, where stories have pooled and dried into silent tales. No soul wanders here, only the breath of wind curves through rumors of passages.
Continue into the Heart See The Unwritten Book