In a realm where echoes fade into shadows, the sound corridors twist in ceaseless agony. Once vibrant, their songs were melodies of forgotten dreams, now mere whispers of a time that unraveled too late.
Stroll through forgotten hallways, where each step resonates with memories etched in dust, each corner a testimony to silence. Listen closely, and you might hear a faint hum, the laugh of a child long since departed, or a love song lost in the echoes of once-cherished moments.
The air is thick with the scent of aged paper and rusted iron, a reminder of what was and what might never be again. The walls speak in riddles, their whispers a language of longing and decay. Here, the past mirrors itself, endlessly reflecting, endlessly repeating.
Beneath the surface lies a tune, a dim and distant melody. It resonates with the heartbeat of the universe, a rhythm of dissolution and rebirth. This is the essence of existence: to be born, to sing, to fade into the silence, and perhaps, to be reborn anew.