Beneath the ethereal whispers of a lingering dusk, where shadows dig deep within their purview, there lies a heart wrapping itself around prisms of echoes of whispers. The fading remnant of fervent sonnets drizzling like rain upon quenched souls.

In corners untouched, amidst petals ground to dust, these ancient dreams only wait, flickering quietly through stories they have told before—all vestiges remained in sepulchral quiet. Yet, someone could believe their echo, if curious enough to follow through the halls, orange glow flickering.