A small house stood on a hill.
Winds wracked it, and blew through the smashed windows, sounding an echo as it hummed a hollow tune through a now-empty shell.
No one knows how long has past…
But then again…
Time flows endlessly in this place.
…
It is said that there was once a lonely man living here, on this hill, in silent desolation. No one was sure, but then again, there was no one to be sure. Time would tell of his passing, and as sure as the seasons change, man will turn to bone, and finally; to dust.
“Under lying stars; dream of bliss.”
Things change, but… some stay certain – a house remains.
What was once a home; is now a shell.
“Lost in time…”
“Her mask, haunts dreams at night.”