In the folds of silence, the words danced — cracked mirrors reflecting half-truths. They spoke of forgotten paths and ephemeral companions

in unlit corridors, where shadows whispered secrets to the moonlit past.

A dialogue without dialogue, echoes bouncing off the walls of an empty cathedral. The saints were indifferent, their statues weeping in stillness.

Here, the conversation left unsaid, etched into the void, an unread script suspended in time.

Midway through the dream, an interruption: the clocks halted, the stars rearranged. Would it matter, the direction?

A story left untold, draped in the echoes of a verity unexplored.