"Do you remember the night we lost the keys? The laughter echoed for miles."
Time is a fickle creature, slipping between fingers like grains of sand. Here we gather, echoes of yesterday.
"They said the library would always be open... but they forgot to tell us it closed with the sun."
Somewhere in a basement, beneath old books and moth-eaten dreams, lie stories unspoken. Who were we before?
"I found a photograph today. How we danced, disguised in color and shadows. Can you still hear the music?"
Where does the dust settle? In whispers, in forgotten corners of grand homes turned into ruins.