Rooms whisper secrets. Walls, once vibrant, fade to grey.
Beyond this threshold, time slides sideways. Dust settles on everything, including hopes.
The book lies open, pages trembling, ink dissolving into shadows.
Listen to the echoesA flicker. The past unspools, a film left to melt.
Yet another door, peeling paint revealing nothing but emptiness.
The clock ticks backwards in this forsaken hall.
Venture where light does not reachAnother room, another echo—this one sounds like rain on rusted rooftops.
Past and present blur, a smear upon fading canvas.
Whispers of yesterday brush against skin like a cold wind.