In the cavernous dark, shadows speak in tongues, their words wrapping around the spine, secret murmurs. Does the silhouette remember the light, or is it but an echo, endlessly rebounding?
Hands stretch, grasping at the intangible, tracing lines on the fabric of silence. Every stroke a story, every pause a universe, woven in whispers, in the breath of stars.
The mirror cracks, a thousand faces emerge, each a promise unfulfilled, an echo unheard. Do they mourn their reflection, or revel in its absence? Each one a note in the symphony of shadows.
Beyond the borders of seeing, a truth lingers, elusive as dawn, persistent as night. To the Echo, the Silhouette asks: "What is the sound of a voice that has no home?"
Discover the unseen paths: Mist and Whisper | Shadow's Reverberation