The ceiling stars flickering with distant glow, calling the lost shadows to dance. What truth lurks in these silent vibrations?
Beneath vaulted whispers, my stepping stones grind secrets. Each footfall an echo, a trembling in the air— like the wind holding its breath.
Your gaze upon the stars, you ask: When did their sighs paint your forgotten history?
In this melancholy indifference, time bleeds. The stars are eternal, and so they remember everything.
Follow the path beneath the archways; corridors lead to revelations not meant to be held. They await silently, the door to nowheres beyond yesterday.
Faint luster | Fossilized glare | Arising whispers