Footsteps in the fog, tracing steps that were never taken, paths unwinding in invisible light, where shadows breathe and whispers echo. There, in the silence, the screams of a thousand voices rise and fall like waves upon a forgotten shore, murmuring tales of what could, or could not, have been.
The clock ticked, or maybe it didn't. Time itself seemed a phantom in this place. What time is it now? The question hung, suspended, in the air thick with unspoken words.
Outside, the wind howled like a wailing child, longing for something just beyond its grasp. Inside, the walls murmured secrets in languages long lost to the ages, the echoes winding through the corridors of thought like unseen phantoms.