Nestled deep within towering pines, the cabin stood silent, cloaked in moss and shadow. Wind whispered through cracked windows, carrying the scent of damp earth and old wood. No smoke curled from the rusted chimney; no footprints marked the leaf-strewn path. Inside, dust blanketed a table set for one, as if time had paused mid-meal. Faded photographs lined the walls, faces long forgotten. Outside, the forest embraced the structure, roots creeping beneath the floorboards. It was a place untouched by voices, where solitude wore the shape of broken shutters and silent echoes—a forgotten relic breathing softly in nature’s endless hush.
