In this room, shadows dance like thoughts lost in translation—
"Do you remember when the stars spoke their language...?" "Only in the crescent light of dawn did I understand."
"Listen not to time, but to the silent echoes of the forgotten," whispered the hollow voices of past lives.
"One must become the shadow, to see the true essence of luminosity," she claimed, in a realm of fleeting midnight.
"The universe is a series of reflections, of which we are but fractions," mused the dreamer.
As the echoes of yesterday's thoughts filled the space, an invisible hand traced the outlines of tomorrow's possibilities.