In a world of shadows, the etchings fade, only to be rewritten by the whispering winds, murmuring secrets of the unseen.
The clock ticks in reverse, repeating the same hour as if to mock the morning's promise, a loop upon loops, etching eternity.
Echoes of laughter from corridors unseen, voices without a face, calling from beyond the mirrors, always just out of reach.
Do you remember when the stars fell? Their light tracing patterns in the sand, only to be washed away by the tide's indifferent embrace.
A memory of a dream, or perhaps a dream of a memory; the boundary blurs as time waltzes in its endless pirouette.
Links to other realms remain unvisited: Echo, Labyrinth, Silence.
Turning pages in forgotten books, where every word is a phantom, every sentence a shadow longing for the light of presence.