“Do you hear it?” she whispered, as if afraid the echoes would chase her.
The walls seemed to sigh in agreement, carrying whispers of what could have been.
His voice, barely audible, floated through the air like autumn leaves on an unseen breeze.
Somewhere, a clock ticked backwards, unraveling the moments one at a time.
The old man spoke to shadows in a corner, “Time is not as it seems.”
Yet the shadows remained silent, holding their secrets as tightly as the night held stars.
"Have we met here before?" the girl asked, eyes wide with forgotten memories.
The wind laughed, carrying the scent of dreams now lost to dawn's early light.
In the distance, a foghorn sounded, its mournful cry echoing through the fabric of reality.
A child giggled somewhere, weaving stories from twilight's woven tapestry.
"Perhaps it's all a circle," he mused, tracing patterns in the sand with his finger.
There are no straight lines here, only the gentle curves of fate guiding each step.