In the perpetual twilight, an unseen orchestra plays serenades that shimmer upon the veil of reality. Each note, a spectral thread weaving through the air, knitting shadows and whispers of forgotten realms.
A lone figure wanders these streets, where cobblestones weep with stories untold. It is said, she listens, but comprehension eludes, lost in the cadence of the melancholic symphony echoing through an ancient night.
Underneath the arches of a dilapidated chapel, echoes of prayers past graze hollow walls. From them, the tenor of time itself resounds, resonating in hollow cries which disturb the serene horizon of echoes unchained.