The castles loom like ancient memories, impatient specters of what was and what fervently never shall be. Their crumbling spires reach out, clawing for whispers held captive by the autumn winds. Each stone holds a quiet secret, a burst of laughter under the starlit night, yet time wears on in languid breath.
Oh, to dance in the moonbeams that spill like dreams over craggy ramps and shadow-soaked corridors, where the echoes of kings and queens intertwine with the sonorous sighs of the earth, beneath a sky rife with flickering reality.
And here lies a portal, an invitation: The Echoes of Time, a place where every sigh whispers stories unspoken, humming the melodies of forsaken pleas.
Silence, is it not a symphony played with invisible strings? Fret not, for the heart knows where to tread: Embrace the Whispers, for within those tenebrous halls, entangled melodies lurk, awaiting the caress of curious souls.