In the vastness of the hall, a single footstep reverberates—its solitary sound is both a reminder of presence and absence. Here, among the quiet walls, stories linger like dust motes in beams of pale light.
"It's too quiet," she breathed, her voice barely rippling the surface of silence.
Reflections of light dance upon the polished floor, twisting and fracturing as they hit the corners of this cavernous space. Shadows stretch long, then retract, as if engaged in a quiet game of chase.
The halls remembered, and their memories whispered softly, just below the threshold of hearing.
As the sun begins its descent, warm hues wash over the surfaces, melting the cold sterility into something rich and inviting. The space becomes a vast reservoir of light and sound, a testament to hidden histories.
"We're not alone here," he said, sensing the unseen companions that walked with them.