In the stillness between words, a voice called out. Not loud, not urgent, but insistent, as if the very walls wished to share their secrets.
Echoing footsteps broke the silence, but they were not mine alone. They danced across the marble floor, reverberating through the empty halls, weaving a tapestry of sound that spun stories untold.
The echoes murmured tales of old. Of laughter that once rang against these walls, of footsteps that filled these corridors with life. Now, they're mere shadows, flickering in and out of the corner of one's eye.
"We heard the stories, you know," said one specter, barely a whisper, the words trailing off into the ether.
I paused, intrigued. "What stories?" I asked, my voice small in the vastness.
Silence enveloped me, thick and heavy, before the answer came. "Stories of who we were, of what we dreamed," the whisper echoed, "before the world moved on, leaving us here, suspended in time."