To unfurl the delicate pages within the tenebrous corridors of time is to invite the lingering muse of antiquity to dance through your thoughts,
a serenade on the dreams of shadows, amid the echo of whispers stolen from sunlit brows where forget-me-nots once repost.
Do the languorous vines of destiny weave softly around the sculpted pillars of yore, echoing ever-amid muffled laughter and pledges
written upon autumn leaves, whispered vows lost amidst the swirling ambers in sepulchral afternoon glow?