The margins whisper, a breeze in sepia tones, Ganymede's dance across the stagnant maw of Valhalla. In the corners of this page, where ink-laden shadows reside, knowledge unbidden drips like damp honey—rich, and suffocatingly dark. The ink doodles, flickering in the edge of perception, hearts and spirals that whisper of the time lost.

Echoes of laughter twist within the curtain folds, as illusions waltz with silhouettes of hollowed trees. Have you seen them? said the specter, raven-eyed and wrapped in a shroud of ivy's mischief.

Unwanted dreams, prologue to an epilogue unwritten; here lies the Covenant Sphere of whispered legends, secrets spun in moonlight and blood.

The page, a portal—flickering like embers on a windswept evening, invitingly trepidatious, amid shattered echoes of a forgotten lullaby. An unsettling harmony lingers, there in the dark margins, a melody only the brave hear.