In a world where whispers of the past cling to the air like autumn fog, a single manuscript remains. Its pages, a tapestry of stories written, erased, and rewritten—
the ink fading only to be replaced with newer truths, lies dormant in the archive of a lost library. To touch it is to dance with shadows.
The tales within are meant to be endless, yet they are not. Once, it spoke of empires and dreams, of kingdoms that rose and fell like tides. Now, only fragments linger, like echoes in an empty hall.
A forgotten queen's lament, a soldier's defiance, the laughter of children beneath an azure sky—each erased tale begs to be remembered, to be uncovered once more.
The truth, as they say, is rarely straightforward. Beneath the surface of the visible lies the invisible, a memory of what was, what could have been. To see it, one must look beyond.
In the margins of history, secrets swirl like autumn leaves. And yet, here we are, standing at the threshold of revelation. What will you find in the forgotten echoes?