"The key turns not in brass, but in the silence of murmured stars..."
"Have you seen the clock without hands?" she asked,
"...it speaks only the language of shadows."
They wandered through corridors woven from twilight
and the soft hum of forgotten lullabies.
"Do you hear the colors?", he pondered aloud,
as if seeking solace in an invisible rain.
Gazing upon the horizon stitched by dreams,
she whispered incantations of the sunlit past;
ethereal invocations to awaken the echo
of a labyrinth still singing its ancient song.
"The moon's whisper carries secrets",
spoke the traveler draped in silver mist.
And thus, each step was a note in the symphony
of dusk fading into the tender night.