In the crumbling margins of time, where ink bleeds into the void, echoes of forgotten riddles haunt the silence. The walls have ears, and they listen to secrets carved in fading light.
“You who came, spectres of yesterday, returned to set alight the shadows cast by the moon’s waning.” Beneath the arches of eternity, palimpsests of erased histories whisper tales written in blood and sorrow. Each word an echo, each pause a chasm.