In the shadowed corners of time, voices linger like fog. They speak of lands erased, of stories half-told, etched in the margins of forgotten scrolls. A murmur of human thoughts, echoes of dreams left suspended in the ether.
"Once, an empire flourished in silence," she said, tracing patterns in the air with fingertips pale as the moon. Histories written on the skin of the earth, now whispered to the winds.
Do the echoes remember the laughter of children lost amongst the ruins? Do the stones remember the touch of hands that built them? Each grain of sand, a testament to time's relentless passage, yet within whispers lies the essence of all that was.
"These echoes," he murmured, "they're the palimpsests of our souls." Erased, rewritten, but never truly gone; they linger, a murmur in the shadows.
Somewhere in an ancient labyrinth, a secret sleeps. A truth buried beneath layers of sand and time, yearning for the touch of a curious hand to unveil its ghostly form. What will remain when all is forgotten and remembered anew?