In the stillness of the uncharted abyss, does the lantern truly need a flame? Or is it the darkness that seeks the torch?
Prepare thyself, traveler, for the road is fraught with echoes of yesterday's tomorrows. The rusted signs offer guidance, or perhaps misdirection, in equal measure.
Have you seen the lost umbrellas, open and crying softly at midday? They speak, in tongues of irony, of rain that never was. Listen closely, if you dare.
Amongst the foliage that laughs back at faces unseen, lies the key—a mere paperclip, yet its worth shall challenge the richest of kings.
Beware the clock without hands, for it tells the time of things unspoken and void of meaning.
Strangely, the shadows ponder their own existence in silent awe. They ponder, and yet the pondering is but a distant illusion cast upon the wail of a single note played by the night.
Dare you venture further? Forgotten Echoes or perhaps The Lost Umbrella awaits.