In the hollow embrace of forgotten forests, beneath the earthen cradle of ancient roots, lie words entangled and longing to breathe. Their whispers crawl upon damp soil, resonating with the sighs of old trees, murmuring secrets to the unseen keepers of time.
Listen closely, for the stones remember the footsteps of those who walked before, their destinies woven into the fabric of stone and shadow. Echoes dance, pirouetting in empty halls, their spectral choreography a testament to time untamed by mundane passage.
What do you seek in the tangles of time? The riddles of the ancients slip through fingertips like mist through grasping palms. Yet knowing, the ancient roots whisper—tangled, eternal.