In the endless halls of time where silence is painted with the brush of wistful sighs, we find a reflection of words unspoken. Their luminance flickers, softly, across the ebon walls, and thus does the heart find its mirror in veritable voids.
Oh, the echoes! They dance, a chorus of forgotten verses, weaving tapestries of shadow and light that hang, suspended in the air, as if to claw open the fabric of night. Did you hear them too? A soothing tremor that stirs the quiet ripples of memory...
The echo of time calls... The echo of time calls... Beyond the cusp of life’s gentle cradle, where the golden hum of day meets the azure cry of dusk, lies a realm where echoes are ever so cherished. Here, they adopt the guise of ancient omens, whispering tales of wanderers lost to the ages.
And yet, amid this resounding silence, there lie paths obscured by the languid breath of ephemeral dreams. Upon these paths, footsteps linger – a gentle testament to the sojourner's resolve. Would you step forth? Through the mirror, to where echoes etch themselves anew, forever waiting in a kaleidoscope of remembrance.