Underneath the vine-choked ruins of timeless yesterdays,
where silence weaves a velvet shroud,
I stumbled upon a whisper, coiling around the edges of memory.
It murmured names once known, faces familiar yet shrouded
in the distant, spectral light of forgotten moons.
I stood, trembling, caught within the woven tapestry of what could have been,
ensnared by the delicious terror of déjà vu.
The air thrummed with the echoes of clockwork ghosts, punctuating the void between breaths with a dirge unsung. Shadows danced on the periphery of vision, flickering like candle flames in an abandoned chapel, calling for a reckoning long overdue.