Among the shadows, echoes linger, calling names that were once carved in fog.
The clock melts like the sun, a reminder that time is but a figment in the tapestry of dreams. Seek the doors that do not exist, and you might find the reflections that never were.
The wind speaks in dialects of forgotten seasons, where the identities of our wandering souls coil and uncoil like ancient scripts tattooed in sand.
Close your eyes, and the silence will guide you. Open them, and the maze of illusions will swallow you whole.