In corridors where moss-gripped secrets
intertwine the forgotten echoes
of dreams once tenderly scattered.
A forgotten alcove holds whispers of
distant lullabies woven into
the fabric of dust-draped air.
Travelers, wrapped in their silent shrouds,
drift through the entropy of fading histories,
casting silhouettes upon fractured memory
gazes, flickering with premonitions
of gardens long swallowed by the embrace
of verdant whispers and vice.
Harken to the call of the winding routes
that dare you to step beyond comfort,
beyond recollection.
Enter the portal, myst,
this tapestry of enigma.
Navigate or become the echo.
Wander forth, and there beyond the amber bend,
lies the script engraved on ebony stones,
letters mere fragments—their tales rotten,
yet they beckon with a cryptic allure.