Whispers, shadows dancing in the periphery of a waking dream. The scent of old parchment, a library that never existed—the echoes of words forgotten.
You recall the tales told by the flickering flame, figures cast in amber light, and the soft murmurs of a wind that remembers all. Remember the dress of autumn leaves, crimson, golden splendor, a procession through whispered corridors of the mind.
Once upon a dusky twinkle, a voice like thunder in a whispering void spoke of the crimson scrolls binding the universe in secrets, halfway between worlds, past the gate of these halcyon skies.
Does the name 'Lysandra' glitter like frost upon midnight waters? Or is it a mere figment, a name lost within the labyrinthine folds of your thoughts?
Journey further through the emerald light, or perhaps the azure whisper calls to you.