In the boundary between dusk and night, where the cosmos recede within themselves, lies a hall untouched by warmth. Here, echoes flit and whisper, tracing the spectral footprints of those who once walked beneath gilded arches.
"The walls remember, even when we forget..."
Lines of whispered tales
abandoned, hollow echoes.
Amongst the shadows of tomorrow.
abandoned, hollow echoes.
Amongst the shadows of tomorrow.
The air carries a scent of
- faded memories, rust pervading the stream, Faint umbra swirling.
- dim lantern odysseys turning, yet to unfurl these narratives.
- resonance lingerings. An essence caught perpetually mid-dream.
Venture beyond the whisper, inquire into its abyss, where shadows morph into phantoms of an unknown past. Here, each echo unravels this spectral silence, as infinite corridors lead eternally onward.