The world outside walks on the edge of quiet, stitching together whispers lost in the wind. Faces woven from myriad stories, drifting in and out like shadows beneath flickering streetlights.
In the deep folds of the night, voices float beneath the surface, wrapped in warm blankets of silence. They tell tales of mundane magic, of unspoken dreams escaping through keystrokes, or the gentle sighing of buildings breathing.
A distant lullaby, a voice like falling rain, speaks of alleys past and laughter that echoes from forgotten corners. Even muffled, it holds the power to bind time's fragile shatters into a single moment of reckoning.
Enter the Gallery of Whispers