Whispers echo through the halls of twilight,
where words weave into shadows, and shadows become. The moon speaks in tongues long forgotten,
a hymn of silken threads stretching,
endless and unyielding.
Here lies a tale, carved into night,
a symphony of static lullabies—sung not in voice but in the silence of stars.
Listen closely; let the whispers guide your restless soul
through corridors of phantoms and dreams.
Unravel the spine —Corridors beckon,
tread lightly, for each step stirs the dust of ancient echoes.
Glistening Silhouettes dance in your wake.