In the dim-lit hall of the withered manor, the walls whisper secrets in tunes long abandoned by time.
A chorus faded amidst fading tapestries sung by invisible tongues, where even the air feels like velvet.
Echoes reverberate in chambers unseen, spooling tales of yore and nevermore in a dance of despair.
The candles flicker with knowing glances as shadows perform their nightly reenactments of absurdity.