
In this room, walls breathe, shifting like the horizon of a distant city, where light threads through filigree leaves, and echoes of forgotten dreams float in the air. Each corner is a possibility, a whisper of Calvino's unseen cities, waiting to be rearranged by the touch of imagination.
In this room, walls breathe, shifting like the horizon of a distant city, where light threads through filigree leaves, and echoes of forgotten dreams float in the air. Each corner is a possibility, a whisper of Calvino's unseen cities, waiting to be rearranged by the touch of imagination.