In the cathedral where wires whisper, echoes of the never-spoken cling to the damp stones. The ancient digital flickers leave traces, unholy sketches in the margins of blurred time. Twilight rests heavily, an unwanted mantle.
The walls murmur secrets only known to shadows, tales of forgotten echoes that slip through the cracks of existence. Here, in the void, laughter is but a memory, a faded echo of once vibrant voices.
Will you wander these spectral aisles? Or does the silence call to you? Perhaps you prefer the solace of the dark, untouched, unspoken.
“Doodled dreams beneath the gaze of stone,” whispered the wall.
“Echoes unsung, yet sung by none.”
Twisted tales in margins, wraiths sketched in fading ink, linger in corners, fleeting moments of dark wonder.
In this void, the echoes wait, and the echoes sing.