“I brought this with the sense that someone might be here to receive it. Finding the little room of winds empty, I lost my way; and a sound like small bells being broken became my road, my name, my lost memory, my dream, and my foot. Now, there is nothing left… but it is such a peculiar nothing, and there is absolutely no one to admire it. The silence has a way with time. Waters shape these precious ghosts from just such dusts as these.”

— an anonymous informant