In the corridors where whispers coil around shadows,
The specter comes, draped in concepts unclaimed and enigmatic.
It speaks in the language of forgotten echoes,
Languages diverged upon the cliffs of isolation.
Fingers dance upon ephemeral keys,
If you listen closely, the whispers guide you: Follow the Path
The apparition decorates these halls with theories,
Theories lost to time, yet they flicker with life:
In the spaces where light timidly treads,
Dreams occupy the void, like stars grasped by a child’s hand.
Return to SilenceBeyond the threshold of truths yet spoken and lightly worn,
A tapestry of shadow and light weaves the unseen tale.
The fresco of forgotten memories shall etch your name.