In the blink between hours, when dreams dance on the edges of waking reality, the city murmurs. Glass towers, silent sentinels, store shadows like memory hoarders. Do you hear it?
Crackling whispers slip through empty corridors, past slick obsidian puddles mirroring dim starlight. They sing of ancient future waves, echoing remnants of places never quite reached...
Every window is a portal, every street a reflection of thoughts long gone. Walk lightly; footsteps might awaken watchful eyes hidden in the sheen of wet concrete. Residents? Only stories seeped in solitude...