These halls tell stories not meant for the living; their voices murmur in forgotten tongues, hidden in the chorus of the unspoken. Each step taken unveils a layer of time, peeling back the skin of reality to expose the veins of memory coursing with echoes. The ground beneath feels slightly ajar, as though ready to swallow the unwary into its abyss of silence.
Among the remnants of conversation and laughter, one might find a page torn from time itself—a note, a poem, a single word that rests heavy upon the air and slips away like the wisp of a dream. The walls hold these truths like secrets whispered to a lover, smiles fading into the shadows that cling to the edges of existence.