In the corridors of the forgotten realm where clock hands cannot trespass, spirits weave a melody in silence. This is the spirit wonderland, an eternal hourglass trapped within a voided time.
The synthetic voices harmonize beneath the echoes of marbled arches; a cacophony of whispers and sighs paints portraits on the ashen walls with notes befuddling resplendence. Joy, joy they sing amidst the entangled thorns.
"Beyond the gate, the crickets serenade the moonlit crows..."
Embrace the dawn of shadows. Venture into the unseen corridors.
Profound awe spills from the glistening orbs adrift in azure voids. They listen intently, their sheened, eyeless stare piercing the heart's abyss, as [in unnamed tongues] they share secrets of lost aeons.
In synthetic harmony, they dwell—guardians of whispering trees, infusing peace among unraveling dreams under the starlit obsidian drape.