In the night, when shadows entwine with the whispers of ancient tales, I wander unseen. The air thickens with the scent of forgotten memories, and the walls, draped in decay, sigh with the weight of untold stories. I am but a remnant of the past, a flicker among the golden embers of time.
There lies a door, a mere crack in the stone, where the whispers converge. It murmurs to the lost, calling them to unseen realms, where echoes ripple through the corridors of time. It promises solace, perhaps companionship in the solitude.
The passage spirals inward, a labyrinth of dreams and doubts. As I traverse its winding ways, the light fades, leaving behind a tapestry of twilight hues. Each step reverberates, a soft melody of despair and hope intertwined.