The twilight shudders, casting ghostly figures upon the ancient stone. Winds carry a hush—a lullaby of paling light reluctant to leave its sanctuary.
Mournful lullabies thread through the autumn mist. Tender are the dreams, entangled in webs of fading dusk.
Voices of yore, the winding corridors repeat their secrets: bitter sighs, gentle omens, the knotting of sorrow in the misty embrace of shadowed realms.
Fables float by, like crimson leaves in sullen descent, tales of handclasped childhoods veiled in smoke with roses ever creeping towards a slumbered night.
Somewhere in this place of forgotten whispers, silken dreams unravel at the hands of ghostly continua, marking paths untrodden, amidst echoes of the moon’s ancient reverie.