In a realm woven from the strands of forgotten whispers, the heart of the labyrinth pulses with a light unclaimed by stars. Here, silence is not the absence of sound but the canvas upon which shadows speak.
The walls stand tall, guardians of secrets etched in the language of mist. Each turn brings a mirror to reflect the soul’s hidden corridors, where the echoes of past footsteps linger like melodies in the wind.
As you wander, a hint of the unseen brushes past, a cool breeze of memory, stitching together the fabric of twilight dreams.