The Calendar of Shadows

In the dim corners of forgotten hours, shadow casts long over memory. Each tick echoes like a whisper caught in the wind—recusant and shivering. Here lies a realm where days lapse like waves, soft and distant, until the calendar itself remembers to breathe.

Wander these hollowed halls where silence wraps around the sun, keeping time in whispers etched on moth-wing veils. Past this door, past that, rooms wait patient with secrets unspoken, yearning only for the passage of time to fill their spaces anew with echoes of absent voices.