This colonnade, a portal to a realm that no longer remembers the sounds of chattering passersby, holds only silent screams echoing against crumbling marble. Tread lightly upon the memories embedded within the columns.
Logic uncoils like the vines creeping around these sacred sculptures, history retelling tragedies, listless, unrepeatable. Who plots our trajectories through the haze of forgotten tomorrows?
Candles flicker in dark corners, ever watching as specters of yesteryear whisper in encoded tongues. Composition of avant-garde art, each brushstroke the breath of lives unlived, each canvas resolution an unspeakable sorrow.
A greater entity inhabits each stratum of tile and reflection, poised just beyond our periphery. Are these remnants guardians or mere spectators of silence?