The world spins in certainties, but here among quiet shadows, I, a cracked chair with fading wood, reveal the:
"The stitching bound these windows too tightly," whispered the haunted curtains, their fibers forever crimson from the secrets locked in.
A diligent clock ticks familiarly, but the gnarled hands know differently: "Beneath the tick lies a silence broken only by betrayals," she croaks, the steady rhythm somber.
Will you dare to step upon quiet truths? Unlock the trapdoor, but listen first to the wind's advice.