In shadows, thoughts decay, silent echoes wrap around the marrow, whispers of a time that drifts like sand through ageless fingers.
The world, an unpolished stone, it tells tales of the fractured, of breathing walls that know too much, all dressed in tattered time.
What lies behind the veil? Is it a map or an illusion? Each step forward crumbles under the weight of unseen layers.
A chain of shadows guides us, whispers that distort meaning, inciting wonder within the corridors of memory.