As you tread the shimmering path of specter-riddled nostalgia, a cascade of prismatic memories unfurl...
Beneath velvet skies, where stars bleed crimson tears,
lies the heart of a weary dragon, resting in eternal slumber.
Listen—its dreams flicker like lanterns lost in a tempest.
In the forest of spectral sighs,
the owls spin yarns of forgotten hymns,
their voices laced with the echo of moonlit rapture.
Beyond the lofty spires of sleep-walker's delight,
the pulse of old magic thrums in tomes—pages made of shadow and light,
breathing stories of worlds unseen and souls untamed.