In the corners of shadowed hallways, beneath the cobwebbed ceilings, the grandfather clock tolls a soundless echo. An ancient book on a dusty table, its pages turn on their own, revealing verses locked within a language of heartache and sorrow.
The air is thick with untold stories, punctuated by the rustling of spectral whispers. It invites you to wander deeper into the corridors of memories, where every room holds a gravitational well of emotions—pulling you into the elegy of forgotten dreams.