Beneath the known, where streams of silence flow, lies a paused breath, waiting – waiting for footsteps to define echoes anew.
Can you hear them, those remnants of forgotten hymns? They play, just out of reach, weaving ephemeral tapestries in the still air.
Gaze upon the glass, not to remember, but to lose. The whispers tell stories of never-weres, shadows pirouetting through unseen corridors.