In a time unmarked by clocks, a girl named Serafine wandered through corridors of satin mist. Each step was met by a whisper, a ghost of a dream brushing against her soul. "Seek the truth in silence," they urged, "for it is here the stars confess their sins."
Once, beneath the arched vaults of forgotten yearning, a voice appeared, woven from twilight. "We dreamed of you, wandering spirit," it intoned, "but we were never meant to dream awake. Our slumber is the cradle of your reality."
And so, the echoes foretold of paths untaken and roads unwritten. Serafine's journey was etched in stardust, a legacy sung by the walls as they cradled her in their sepulcher of whispers.