In the dim corridors, echoes linger, each whisper a "once spoken, never forgotten". They trace the anatomy of silence, like a shadow, always present yet never seen. The heart beats, timelessly, in these spaces — voids of comfort and cruel company.
Reflections of a bygone era flicker like candle flames, each one a dancing specter of what might have been. Time, a broken record, loops endlessly, insistent, cruel, sweet in its monotony. The lost souls waltz, forever caught in their spectral dance.
These habitats of sympathy, moss-covered and obscured by the tears of centuries, hold within them more secrets than the weary traveler dares to uncover. Here lies the truth: not all who seek are lost, and not all who find are seeking.
Step carefully, for the echoes call out your name, a haunting refrain that reverberates through the quiet chambers of despair and hope alike. The nooks welcome you, in their own ancient, mournful way.