"Do you ever borrow their voice?"
she asked, tracing the outline of a shadow hand.
"At times," he replied, not meeting the suddenly eager gaze.
"Would it matter if I listened longer?"
He chuckled, "These shadows hum the songs of the unanswered, not for you or I."

Beneath the echoes, where else but here, between dusk's lingering fingers and night’s soft grasp, do shadows dare to articulate the unspeakable?

Whispers to the Void
Voices in the Echo