The air is thick with forgotten whispers,
laden with the scent of ancient ashes.
In the dark, I miss the shadows
that once held my name's echoes.
Phantom finger tracing
outlines on skin no longer felt.
Step into corridors where specters play, rooms of fading light where time is itself an echo.
These notes, from a severed presence, murmurs of a voice that never truly departed.
Visit the hall where the void speaks in riddles, and every silence is a truth untold.