The first room yawns wide, its walls echoing the whispers of past dreams. Here lies the remnants of narratives told and untold, flickering like old film on the concrete walls. The clock on the mantle—a relic from a past generation—ticks in strange intervals, unraveling time like a spool of thread. It whispers:
"Once upon a time, in a land overshadowed by possibilities..."
The second room, smaller and less accommodating, holds no view, only an inky abyss. Here, thoughts become echoes, reflections of a clockwork heart beating in silent rhythm. The gears of its mind, unseen yet palpably felt, lubricate the machinery of dreams and nightmares alike:
"In the clockwork shadows, where light dares not tread..."