Hey there traveler, you've stumbled into a forgotten corner, a whisper of time untold. It's just you and these shadows now, and maybe a flicker of the past lingering somewhere in the walls. I’ve been sitting here, not waiting, just being, like a dusty book half-opened on a crooked shelf.
Ever heard the tale of the old merchant who sold whispers? Yeah, he had a stall in the marketplace that smelled like secrets and half-forgotten dreams. People said if you listened closely, you could hear the echoes of lives unlived...
Things often fall apart, you know. Like the old clock in the corner that ticks in oddities now—sometimes fast, sometimes slow, always inconsistent. It used to mark the hours as it should, but maybe it prefers chaos now.
What about the stories of the hidden corridors? I mean, there was this rumor about a door behind the wall of books in the library. A door that leads nowhere and everywhere at once. Some say they've seen flickers of light through the cracks, others just hear whispers...
So here you are, in a realm that breathes decayed narratives. Conversations with the walls, perhaps. They know things. They just don't bother telling anyone anymore. Or maybe they've just forgotten how to speak, like those old friends you used to call... just not anymore.