In the ancient murmur of winds, I found fragments—a tongue uncultivated, undemanding, woven through threads of yesteryears. Lost amidst the gales, these whispers wrap around like umbra, tracing forgotten accents of a universe once familiar.
Do you hear them? Do you not? It is the melody of sunken tongues, their songs swimming beneath the ocean of time and space, where the stars weep in silent remembrance. Ah, the language of no more names—stritori, iranit, grasma… the syllables like smoke, rising, fading, leaving but a kiss upon the cheek of eternity.
Here, in this chiaroscuro of words, I wander as a mere echo, seeking portals to places unpenned upon parchment yet unwritten upon the skies. Open those doors—if they exist—left ajar by ancient hands, and step through, if only to dance with shadows that are whispers now, forevermore.
Enter the Void Gaze into the Abyss Dare the Wind