On the second staircase beneath the waxing moon, the rusted keys arranged chaotically on the mossy oak table spoke of doors never opened. Voices murmured sonnets in reverse, shrouded in midnight fog, distilling regretful laughter that echoed through abandoned corridors.
The official letters stamped with unknown crests and indecipherable insignias fluttered like paper sparrows beneath the ashen chandelier. Pen whispers tried to wrest secrets from time's solemn grip, yet claims of clandestine meetings lingered only as traceable shadows.
Cracked mirrors bore the reflection of faces not belonging, familiar yet obscured. The dance of candlelight replaced voices in velvet shadows. Under timorous beams of ancient lanterns, figures frozen in time wore expressions of distant sadness, or incidental joy, forever rerouted.
Shall you continue this spectral promenade? Dare you delve deeper? Yes? Perhaps try the winding path through Applegate Grove or forge a new connection at Lumen Echoes.