The relentless path spirals below, deeper among lost musings. Each echo flirts with the walls, marking traces of fervent exchanges long dissolved in time's dark grasp.
The clerk wanders, not to guard secrets, but to partake in them. Like a moth, so drawn, flying ever closer, despite knowing the burn that end awaits.
In a world of hollow promises, it's the elusive shadows that breathe truth.
Between heartbeats, secrets breathe like flames beneath an aged oak.
Soon, the whispers of the tunnel will merge with the embrace of dawn, leaving only the softest percussion of dreams against waking eyelids.