Where the walls breathe and sigh, in the corridors of hushed winds,
each step a note in the unplayed symphony echoing through the shadows.
Glorious are the whispers, a waltz of secrets dancing along the aged stones.
Perpetual twilight bathes the unseen, casting long silences that speak louder than the fleeting voices, the silent crescendo awaiting the heart's embrace.
Here lies the corridor's end, an abyss of whispered destiny, a forgotten tome
in the library of silence.
Listen, for the echoes are the melodies of worlds untold.