Behind the ancient walls, where dust breeds silence and time forgets, shadows carve their lament across the cold stone. Here, in the haunt of echoes, spectral whispers breathe life into desolation.
"<Phantom: Who replaces the missing pages of existence?>"
As the winds wail through crevices, carrying tales of bygone whispers, every scratch upon the wall is a letter from the other side; an elegy in a forgotten tongue. The spirits murmur their truth, reflected in the essence of decay and darkness.
"<Phantom: When will the night understand her children?>"
A lost fragment of a dream, perhaps, or the sigh of an unseen presence longing for solace. Do the stone walls remember? Do they care? Beneath the surface, beneath the texture of time's weariness, the answer lies locked away.