Reflections ripple through veils of illusions,
each glance betrays a fragment of forsaken memories.
In a cadence of silence, whispers of forgotten echoes lurk.
Mister Turnkey stood at the threshold, annihilating certainty utterly.
A garden where unspoken wishes curl inside petals.
A grove of shadows cultivated in memory's mound.
What dreams weave between veins of the tortured night?