The quiet corridors reverberate with whispers, not of voices but of dreams untold. Each step echoing off the unseen walls carries the weight of forgotten stories, a symphony of shadows waiting to be discerned.
In the half-light, the specters of past thoughts flicker like moths drawn to the flame of consciousness. What truths lie hidden beneath the cobwebbed layers of time, waiting to be unearthed by those brave enough to tread these silent halls?
Reflective surface, remember my name... or don’t. The dream continues unfurling, a silent scroll inscribed with echoes and murmurings pressing against the boundaries of waking life.
Hear the distant melodies