In the murmur of midnight, a symphony of broken whispers, fragments once spoken and now unseen, unseen. The shadows hum; their song is one of crooked oaths and forgotten melodies — each static pulse a heartbeat in the nocturnal embrace, drawn tight around these hidden odes, these silent veils.
Listen closely, for the walls speak when the stars align: an unfinished sentence hangs in the air — it fractures, it quivers when touched by the lunar light, translating. Such words are cloaked in mystery, unheard but felt, like static engaging with flesh, debris on a forgotten frequency.