You know, it's a peculiar feeling. Wandering through a place like this. Nobody here but me and the dust motes lingering, hanging on for dear life. I get these wild thoughts that maybe they're here waiting for something just like I am. Kind of companionship, you could say.
There're whispers, too. At first, I thought they were just figments of my imagination, something the creaking floorboards had conjured up when I dared to tread upon them. But then, I heard them again—softly, like secrets carried by an autumn breeze, brushing my cheek as they waltzed past, leaving cold trails in their wake.
The first secret: a locked door, its brass handle cold enough to make your fingers tingle. No key in sight, just this sense of wanting, like there's something in there that I need to see, but it's not for me, is it? It's for someone else, long gone, perhaps.
Below the mist of memory is another world, one where silence reigns, and shadows dance—the secret room to your left (or is this your right?), behind that hollowed-out wall panel? Maybe next to the dusty old piano? I can almost see you there.
The second secret: whispers outlining the silhouettes of forgotten ghosts, etched into the very fabric of the air, shimmering with stories untold. I've been tracing their outlines with my fingertips, hoping to capture at least a fragment of their mysterious dance.
You start to realize, when you linger long enough, that every secret is like a path one could take, if only they weren't veiled in eternity, shrouded in whispers and dust. Perhaps, one day, someone will unlock them, but until then, it's just us two listening, you know?
The Secret Revealed? Fragments of Forgotten Time