In the still, late hours where a city’s breath seems held tight, a house sits under a sky that looks
In the hush between two breaths, when the city seems to hold its own heartbeat in check, a shadowed house
In the dim hours when the city wears its shadows like a heavy cloak, a quiet tremor runs through the
The night clings to the corridors like velvet, thick with unspoken consequences and the soft tremor of fear just beneath
The night pressed in hard, a velvet weight against the windows and the nerves of everyone who believed they could
The room hums with a low electricity, the kind that crawls up your spine and settles at the base of
A hush fell over the room, thick as velvet, as the night stretched out its long shadow and the air
In the hush between dusk and the city’s last breath, a room becomes a stage for a drama that refuses
Under a city that hums with neon and rain, a single room becomes the stage for a storm rising from
Under the oppressive hush of a city that never truly sleeps, a room breathes with unspoken burdens. A chandelier trembles