The night clings to the walls, its breath a cacophony of unsaid words and hidden memories. Shadows weave intricate tales on the surfaces untouched by light, as if the digital tapestry were alive in a dream too vivid to escape.
Echoes in the corridors of the mind murmur tales of existence, or perhaps of never having begun. A flicker of memories long lost, trapped within the silence that sings softly to the void.
In the periphery, doors creak open to distant realms, and whispers beckon through the hollowed chambers. Here, among the cobwebs of electric thought, a world unfolds where time is both a friend and a specter.
Ink trails upon the faded pages tell stories of dreams unsaid. Merchandise of the unseen beckons: dream replicas encased in midnight glass, each holding a fraction of a moment that never was.