The floors are cold and silent beneath the woven clouds of silence, unshed whispers traverse the obscure dimensions, evolving with each neglected footfall. These halls, forever empty, cradle the dreams forgotten by transient souls. They speak not in words, but in echoes.
Legends intertwine like the particles left unswept across the geometric patterns, disintegrating into the very walls that hold them fast. Once, a traveler stood here, facing the weaving of obstructions, crafted for reasons now unknown. With each murmur of the approaching unknown, a new tapestry ensued, woven through the loom of time.
Сrushed beyond the alien horizons seen, portals into tangible voids emerge. Do not step lightly; the echoes watch with silent inquiry, awaiting a story cocooned in your past, present, or yet to unfurl. A flicker of something ancient usurps the fragile illumination, moments dance like candle flames caught in unseen drafts.