In the corridors where shadows weave, whispers coil through currency of time.
The clock ticks in reverse:
— A murmur sliced through the ether: "The thirteenth key unlocks nothing." — Footfalls on cobwebbed ceilings, a dance with the forgotten.
A once-sung hymn fades into tapestry of dust, encrypted within the breaths of ghosts.
The fragments of stories untold, shared under crescent moons.
Glimpses | Murmur