"I can't tell if they were ever here or if I'll ever leave," she murmured, eyes fixed on shadows that danced in the ceiling's corners.
Across the room, a whispered voice broke the silence, "You find them, the echoes of things unsaid, hidden in the folds of reality."
The wind howled outside, or was it the door that creaked a forgotten melody? "Do you hear it too?" asked the figure with no face but an outline drawn in midnight ink.
The clock on the wall ticked in reverse, a rhythm of time unbound. A gentle laugh floated past, tinged with the scent of old libraries and secrets.
“They've turned the world askew,” he whispered, clutching a map that led nowhere.
A persistent question lingered in the air, unanswered: "When did the shadows start talking back?" The floor felt like it was part of an endless dream, a landscape of possibilities.