In the attic where time forgets its name, a collection of dust settles upon the silence.
They gather, congregate, a form of ethereal assembly whispering the tales of what once was. A soft chime of glass against glass, a pinhole of light emitting shadows from the floorboards.
What are the voices that they carry? Emblems of sorrow or threads of laughter? Perhaps mere echoes of buried whispers, a palimpsest woven into the fabric of dusk.
Navigate through the labyrinth of these recollections. A diary lost in translation, missing pages marking the corners where dreams once raced.
What will you find? The white-cheeked apparitions aflame, dancing amid the remnants of erased histories.