The footfalls are hardly audible in the vast corridor; a march against time's relentless passage.
Each step, a note in a forgotten symphony, reverberates against ancient walls, etching stories of echoes past.
Whispers linger, painted against the marble, like ghostly silhouettes of conversations long since ceased.
whispers/archive.htmlA shadow darts out of the periphery, only to merge back into the familiar unknown.
Pale sunlight leaks through cracked windows, illuminating the dust that dances in its rays, momentarily alive.
The echo of a child's laugh weaves through the stillness; a fleeting echo of innocence amidst the forgotten.
shadows/forgotten.htmlThe creak of a door, opened by unseen hands, resounds like a call to a ghostly congregation.
Here, within these wings of solitude, you might hear your name whispered by a voice that feels all too familiar.
Yet, you remain a specter, moving through a world that was, and perhaps still will be, a part of you.
echoes/whispered.html