Sometimes when you listen closely, you hear the whispers of the forgotten corridors, where lights blink with voices untold.
Paths twist, turn, uprising and down-sinking into abysses, a mirror of fractal symmetry—
Go left, or was it right? The answer melds with the question, slipping through fingers.
The walls murmur secrets only they know, weaving through mindscapes like a stream through shadow reeds.
You stand on the brink, contemplating not the fall but the flight. Dream Again