In the tender cradle of the zephyr, truths untold sail forth—
The Bookshelf: I, the guardian of the silent pages, murmur to the wind tales of lost lovers beneath the moon. Stories not penned, yet lived, that haunt my wooden beams.
The Clock: Tick... tock... My metallic heart harbors whispers of stolen time, fears of unfilled hours, and dreams of days uncounted. Listen closely, for the seconds sing.
The Broken Mirror: Shards scattered, I bear reflections of secrets spoken in dark rooms. Fragments know the truth of those who pretend, and they weep in silence when touched by light.