Whispers in the Shadows

A step taken—echoes in the solitary night. The door creaks a sentence nobody understands, made of the silence that precedes storms.

In the corridor, mirrors twist over whispers; reflections reshape secrets—fractured glass in a forgotten room. Memories flood, and yet the paths are dry. Questions linger like moths, their wings dusted with stardust.

Did you hear that? The clock strikes, yet time is a loose concept here, threading night into the fabric of morning tide. Eyes that don't see, yet do. They are watching—or is it the dust that gazes?

Beneath the floor, shadows hum a tune—melodies unfamiliar, yet comforting. The melody guides the pulse of existence, creating crescendos from mundane breaths. Somewhere, the wind whispers secrets of ages past.

Venture into the abyss. See where the maze leads. Open the door to what might be.