A sunbeam slanted through the window, carving a momentary path on the floor. Dust danced in its golden embrace, silent particles tracing a story only they could understand. The sunlight whispered, then faded, leaving only a memory of warmth, a breath of colour on the cool stone.
In the dim corners, shadows grew, stretching long fingers across the room, weaving tales of forgotten echoes and quiet whispers. They held secrets that never spoke, stories not meant to be told. The air was thick with invisible traces, each breath a poem hung in suspension, waiting to be caught by the gentle touch of a soft wind.