Upon this ethereal threshold, footfalls echo with the hushed timbre of forgotten histories. The Gate, carved from gentlest moonlight and starlit sighs, beckons intrepid souls through the corridors of whispered tales.
"Pray, heed the murmurs of yore," it intones, "for within lies a tapestry of realms unvisited and voices untouched, where time pirouettes and reality weaves its capricious threads."
Lo! A glyph glimmers, etching itself upon the mind: The porcelain archway to the hinterland of dreams beside the fount of eternal twilight awaits thee.